


Little Bird

by Erandir



Series: Nobody's Herald [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Family, Family Drama, Gen, M/M, Post-Game, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4734863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erandir/pseuds/Erandir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reports said that all of Clan Lavellan had been destroyed. The attack left not a single survivor. They may not have been entirely correct.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miraculous Little Bird

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to _Destiny Doesn't Send Heralds_. I highly recommend reading that first, but this can probably be understood without it.

_“Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family: Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.”_ – Jane Howard

 

* * *

 

Two months after the Inquisitor cast down a would-be god and closed the Breach once and for all life at Skyhold had calmed down significantly. There were no more battles to plan; no more wars to end or assassins to thwart. There were still lingering rifts to close, further from Skyhold than had been practical to visit during the war. Scouts were out confirming all the reports that had come in and a lengthy expedition for the Inquisitor to close them was in the planning stages. For now, though, life was calm. Boring, even, after so many months of constant action.

So far Aldaron had lost a total of forty sovereigns to a variety of people in a variety of card games and won back less than five. He had marginally better luck at chess – won more often than he lost, at least – but today that luck was not with him. Aldaron had lost nearly half of his pieces and his defenses were crumbling. Across the table Dorian leaned back in his seat and smiled smugly. “Face it, amatus,” the man said solemnly, “Your defeat is inevitable.”

Aldaron frowned down at the chess board in defiance. “You’re cheating,” he accused.

“I would never!” Dorian gasped in mock offense. “How could you accuse me of such a thing?”

“Cullen says you cheat, too,” Aldaron countered. He moved one of the pieces on the board and took one of Dorian’s pawns. “In fact, the first time I played him he caught me cheating. Only I didn’t know I was cheating,” he paused and pointed the pawn threateningly at Dorian, “Because that’s how you taught me to play the game.”

“Ah, yes, that is true,” Dorian shrugged but didn’t look at all ashamed, “It’s more fun this way, isn’t it?”

Aldaron rolled his eyes, “It’s probably your fault I’m so bad at cards, too.”

“You wound me, amatus,” Dorian clapped a hand to his chest, “Your failure at Wicked Grace is entirely your own doing, I’m afraid. Just ask Varric. It is, however, a failure that benefits everyone in the Inquisition.”

“So I’m only invited to play because everyone knows they can take all my coin?” Aldaron asked, though he knew it was not the case. Not entirely, anyway. Besides, it wasn’t as though he needed the money.

“It’s sad, but it’s true,” Dorian said solemnly. “You could always stop accepting the invitations if it bothers you that much.”

Aldaron frowned as he watched Dorian take his last knight. “But what if Josephine wins all of Cullen’s clothes again and I miss it?” he mumbled.

Dorian laughed loud enough that some of the other people in the garden looked over at them curiously. “That would be tragic indeed,” he agreed.

“Inquisitor,” a call from across the garden interrupted their conversation. At the sound of his title Aldaron looked up to see a messenger hurrying in their direction. “I apologize for the interruption, Your Worship,” the young woman said quickly, “The Commander says you are needed at the gates as soon as possible.”

“Is something wrong?” Aldaron asked in concern.

“Two elves just arrived,” the messenger reported, “They claim to know you.”

That was a bit of a surprise. Aldaron didn’t know many people outside the Inquisition, and fewer elves - a handful in Orlais and the Dalish clan they had met in the Exalted Plains. “Alright, I’ll be right there. Would you tell Josephine as well? And have her meet me there.”

“Of course, Your Worship,” then with a curt bow the messenger was gone.

“Sorry,” Aldaron said to Dorian as he pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Does this mean I win?” the man asked hopefully, smugly.

Aldaron looked down at the board, and what would have obviously been Dorian’s win anyway, then reached out and knocked over the man’s king. “We’ll call it a draw.”

“Now who’s cheating?” Dorian asked, amusement obvious in his voice. But he left the pieces where they were and stood up as well, “I think I’ll go with you, if you don’t mind. See what all the fuss is about.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Aldaron assured him. The elf was curious himself, so he couldn’t blame Dorian for feeling the same. Skyhold was flooded with pilgrims in recent days, as it hadn’t been since the Inquisition had first taken up residence, there had to be something different about these particular arrivals that demanded his personal attention. They said they knew him. Someone from Keeper Hawen’s clan?

Josephine caught up to them in the main hall, but was apparently none the wiser about their supposed guests. She was quick to assure that she hadn’t had any word from Hawen’s clan or any of their other elven allies. That made Aldaron even more curious as he left the hall and made his way down into the courtyard.

There were indeed two elves standing by the main gate dressed in the leather and rough-spun linen typical of Dalish elves. Cullen stood beside them speaking almost casually with the elder of the pair, a middle-aged elf with dark hair graying at the temples and June’s vallaslin inked onto his features.

Wait. Aldaron did know that man. But it was impossible for him to be standing there. They were all supposed to be dead.

And then he set eyes on the wide-eyed young girl hiding behind the older elf and looking nervously at all the people milling about. The sight stopped him dead in his tracks in shock. Then his feet were moving without conscious thought, walking and then running, heedless of anything other than the girl standing by the gates. She set eyes on him only moments before he reached her, mouth open in a gasp before he threw his arms around her tiny shoulders and crushed her against his chest. “ _Asa’ma’lin_ ,” he breathed into her hair, felt her slender arms come up and wrap around his chest. “ _Da’ean, ane eth. Unsilan na din_.”

She trembled in his arms, hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt. “ _Isa’lin_ ,” her voice was soft and choked with tears.

Aldaron pulled back from the embrace reluctantly, held the girl by her shoulders and crouched down slightly to be at her level. There were tears on her cheeks, and he immediately moved a hand to wipe them off. “Are you hurt?” he asked earnestly. She shook her head and sniffled, then hugged him tight again, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Inquisitor?” Someone asked. The word brought Aldaron back to the present, reminded him they were standing in the middle of the courtyard with half of Skyhold watching. Reluctantly the Inquisitor attempted to compose himself. He stood up straight, but kept an arm around the young girl’s shoulders as she clung to him. “I take it you know these people?” Cullen was asking.

“Yes,” Aldaron answered. His eyes slid past the commander to where Dorian and Josephine were hovering with matching looks of concern on their faces. “This is my sister, Asheani,” he said as his gaze met Dorian’s, and watched the man’s eyes widen in understanding. “And this is…” he paused and turned his attention to the older elf once more. He’d been so distracted by the miraculous appearance of his younger sister that he’d completely forgotten about everyone else. But he recognized this man as well. “Mithran. Master craftsman of Clan Lavellan.”

A look of understanding dawned across Cullen’s face as well. “Then we are happy to have you here. We… had heard there were no survivors of the events in Wycome.”

“As far as I am aware we were the only ones,” Mithran replied solemnly. “We were away from the camp when it was attacked, and by the time we returned your Inquisition’s soldiers had cleared off the attackers.”

“I’m sorry they didn’t arrive in time to prevent such a tragedy,” Cullen replied. “I’m certain you’ll be welcome here as long as you like.”

“They are,” Aldaron interjected quickly, passionately. The last of his clan, the last of his family; he would never drive them away.

“Then I’ll see that rooms are made ready for them,” Josephine assured quickly.

“Asheani will stay with me,” Aldaron said firmly, and tightened his grip on the girl’s shoulders protectively.

For a moment Josephine looked surprised, and then she smiled in understanding. “Of course, Inquisitor. You must want to catch up. I’ll make certain you aren’t disturbed for the rest of the day.”

“Thank you,” Aldaron replied. The ambassador gave a quick nod before hurrying off to give orders to servants. As usual Aldaron was thankful for the woman’s quick thinking. He was happy to have what little remained of his family here, but he knew from experience that Skyhold must be quite a shock for them. However, he knew that Josephine would do everything she could to make them feel comfortable, and that was a relief.

Asheani was still clinging to him, though Aldaron had no intention of releasing her any time soon. She had, however, turned her gaze outward, staring nervously at the people that surrounded them. Aldaron’s behavior had unintentionally caused a bit of a commotion. There wasn’t a crowd, exactly, but nearly everyone in the yard had turned to see what was happening. So Aldaron knew that he should move this inside, but he was so full of questions that he couldn’t help asking the most pressing of them right away. “What happened?” He could barely manage to keep his voice even as he turned his attention to Mithran. He was too full of conflicting emotions; joy that anyone had survived, grief that this was truly all that remained of his clan. “To… to the clan; what happened? How did you survive?”

Mithran looked tired, Aldaron realized belatedly. He’d been so focused on his sister (and who could blame him?) that he’d barely spared the man a glance. He realized suddenly how long they must have been on the road. The attack that cost the clan their lives had been months ago, during the height of the war. What had they been through since then? Had they come all the way from Wycome on foot? “It’s likely a very long story, _da’len_ ,” the craftsman replied, and even his voice was weary. “And I don’t think this is the best place for it.”

“Oh, of course,” Aldaron said quickly. He’d never meant to imply that. They must both be exhausted. “Let’s go inside. We can talk in my quarters,” he said, and began leading them back toward the hall. He kept an arm around Asheani’s shoulders protectively. “Are you hungry?” he asked, looking down at his sister, then up at the older elf. “I can have something sent up.” He didn’t even wait for a reply before looking back over his shoulder. “Josephine, can you send something up from the kitchens?”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” the ambassador assured. Aldaron thanked her again before turning his full attention back to the last remaining members of his clan, all else momentarily forgotten. There was so much he wanted to know, so many questions and it was difficult not to ask them all at once. He had to bite his tongue to keep them all from spilling out as he lead the way through the great hall and up to his rooms.

As soon as they reached the top of the stairs Asheani’s eyes went wide as she stared out at the room. Similar to Aldaron’s reaction the first time he’d set eyes on the room and realized it was intended for him alone. Except then it had been in ruins, and he could only imagine how much more awe inspiring it was now, with the sun streaming in through the stained glass and freshly cleaned by the maids this morning. “You live here?” she breathed quietly.

“I do,” Aldaron confirmed, perhaps a little proudly, though he would never admit it. All of this had become normal now, and while he could easily go back to living in the woods Aldaron had to admit that all the finery was sort of nice. Cooks to provide his meals, maids to clean up after him, a comfortable bed and clean clothes every day. Maybe he was getting a bit spoiled.

Asheani pulled away from him and wandered out into the room. She stared at the murals on the wall, the plush rugs under their feet, the view of the mountains outside. Even Mithran looked about curiously, “It’s clear how highly the _shemlen_ think of you, _da’len_ ,” the older elf commented.

Aldaron felt suddenly embarrassed, like he was bragging simply by bringing them into his home. They had lost everything along with the clan, not just people. Aldaron, at least, still had the Inquisition. “I… I never asked for any of it,” he insisted.

“You never seemed the type that would,” Mithran agreed. “Although from what we’ve heard, you certainly deserve their adulation.”

“How much have you heard?” Aldaron asked curiously. He knew the tales that spread about him were sometimes wildly exaggerated, and he had never had much time to write to his family about what was going on.

“Only a fraction of the truth, I expect,” Mithran commented. “The clan was very proud of you, _da’len_ ; your parents especially.”

All of a sudden Aldaron felt twelve years old again, begging every hunter in the clan for an apprenticeship, sneaking into the forest with his father’s bow to prove he was ready. Or seventeen, vallaslin still red on his cheeks and pleading with the Keeper to send him to the Conclave. “Were they really?”

“You have always set such high expectations for yourself,” Mithran mused, “Higher than anyone else would ask of you. I don’t believe anyone was surprised when we heard you had joined the Inquisition, but to hear of all that you’ve accomplished, how could anyone not be proud? Your mother would not stop bragging about how her son was going to fix the sky. It was insufferable, really.”

Aldaron smiled faintly, though he also had to fight back tears. That certainly sounded like his mother. Taking a deep breath to swallow back his emotions, Aldaron sat down on the sofa and watched his sister poke about among the knickknacks on the mantle. “I wish I could have done something to save them.”

“You were here, what could you have done?” Mithan asked.

“I…” Aldaron began, then cut himself off. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “How did you escape? The reports said… they said it was a slaughter,” he said quietly.

“It was not pretty,” Mithran confirmed solemnly. “Asheani had asked me to make her a bow, so she could fight with the others.”

“She wanted to fight?” Aldaron asked in shock. She had never showed any interest in hunting or fighting before. She preferred healing and crafting and tending the halla.

“She wanted to help,” Mithran corrected. “She saw her family and her friends fighting, she heard what you were doing, but she could do nothing. But I do not give away bows to untrained hunters. I told her I would teach her to make one instead, and when she could craft a bow suitable for hunting she would be allowed to fight. I had hoped that by then she would loose interest, or the war would be ended. Your parents agreed.

“That day, when the clan was attacked, I had taken her into the forest to find materials. We were gone for three days. By the time we returned there was nothing we could do. Your Inquisition’s soldiers had already driven off the attackers.”

So they had not seen what actually happened, either. That was good, actually. While he had hoped for some answers, he was glad that Asheani hadn’t had to witness her family’s murder. And would details of the attack really make him feel better? Probably not.

“Al?” Asheani’s voice pulled him back to the present and he looked up quickly. She had plucked the little halla statuette off his mantle and was holding it as she came over to the sofa. “Where did you get this?”

“That…” Aldaron hesitated and leaned forward to get a closer look at the figure. Then he hesitated in answering. “I… stole that from the empress of Orlais,” he admitted, flushing with embarrassment. A bout of petty bitterness after all the nauseating politics of the Winter Palace. Dorian had laughed uproariously when he discovered it in their belongings later.

Asheani’s eyes went wide and Aldaron couldn’t bring himself to look at Mithran’s reaction. “Is it important, then?” the girl asked.

“No,” Aldaron said quickly. “It’s just decoration. She probably doesn’t even notice it’s gone. Do you like it? You can have it if you want.”

“Can I really?” Asheani asked in awe. Aldaron nodded and watched a tiny smile cross her face as she looked back down at the small carving. He certainly didn’t need it, and it would be one tiny step back toward normal life for her.

“Do you want to hear how I got it?” Aldaron asked, gesturing for her to come sit with him. “It might not be a very good story, though.”

“I don’t mind,” the girl assured. She sat down beside him on the sofa, holding the halla to her chest.

So Aldaron told them both all about the Winter Palace (though not as well as Varric could have). In the midst of it a kitchen maid arrived with a tray of food, fruit and cheese and breads. Someone must have told them who it was for because there was no other explanation for the sheer variety of baked goods on offer. Asheani was shy in accepting the food but absolutely devoured three fruit tarts as soon as they were in her hands. As the afternoon grew long Josephine showed up to check on them. When she left Mithran went with her, shown to a guest room in the same wing as visiting nobles, which was certain to enrage them. Aldaron was secretly pleased. By then Asheani was yawning anyway, so Aldaron ushered her over to the bed and lay down beside her like they had as children. They continued talking quietly as Aldaron watched his sister’s eyelids droop. There was so much to catch up on that he didn’t know where to start, so he started at the beginning and talked until her breathing went even in sleep.

 

* * *

  
“Aldaron,” a soft voice and a gentle nudge woke the Inquisitor from his doze. He blinked sleepily and looked up to find Dorian leaning over him. Outside the sun was setting, casting the whole room in a rosy glow. “How are you doing?” the man asked quietly.

“I’m…” Aldaron paused and turned his head to look back at his sister, still sound asleep, curled up in the sheets. “I’m good,” he said eventually, and sat up slowly. “I… I thought she was dead.” Along with the rest of his clan, his family.

Dorian took a step away from the bed and gestured for Aldaron to follow him. The elf climbed off the bed and padded silently to the other side of the room. “And how is she doing?” Dorian asked.

Aldaron glanced back, as though assuring himself that she was still real. “Tired,” he replied. “Still scared, I think, but she’s alright. She wasn’t there when the clan was attacked. Mithran was taking her to forage for materials.”

“She’s lucky,” Dorian observed. “Must run in the family,” he joked in an effort to lighten the mood. But Aldaron just gave him a weary glance. The rest of his family was dead. It didn’t feel very lucky. “Sorry,” Dorian sobered quickly. “Well, I suppose I’ll be spending the night in my own room. It’s a good thing Josephine hasn’t had me thrown out yet to house another guest.” He had barely set foot in the room for months and all of his possessions were very slowly migrating to the Inquisitor’s quarters.

“You don’t have to do that,” Aldaron assured him.

“Don’t I?” Dorian asked. “Waking up in the middle of the night to find a strange man in the room isn’t exactly how I’d like to meet your family. Besides, you need time to catch up.”

Aldaron sighed softly. “You’re right,” he agreed. Asheani was still nervous around humans too.

“I’m always right,” Dorian reminded him with a smile. Then he ducked down to steal a quick kiss from Aldaron’s lips. “And I’m happy for you. It’s a terrible situation, I know, but at least someone survived, right?”

Aldaron nodded slowly. He was… if not happy then relieved. It felt selfish to be happy. “Thank you for understanding.”

“I’m not entirely heartless,” Dorian complained good naturedly. “I… have tried to imagine how I might feel if Felix were to miraculously show up.”

“ _Ma’nehn_ ,” Aldaron sighed sympathetically and reached out to his lover, but as the elf opened his mouth to reply he was interrupted by a small voice from the other side of the room.

“Al?”

Aldaron turned quickly at the sound of his name to see his sister half sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Immediately he was rushing back to the bedside. “I’m here,” he assured, seating himself at her side.

The girl blinked the rest of the way awake, looked at Aldaron for a moment, then her gaze slid past him to land on Dorian.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” the man said, drawing Aldaron’s attention again. “I’ll see you in the morning, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Aldaron said earnestly. Even if he’d offered it the man probably wasn’t happy to be kicked out of their bed. But Dorian took it well in stride, for once not complaining, and favored the pair of elves with a short bow before disappearing down the stairs. Only after he heard the door shut did Aldaron turn his full attention back to his sister. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Asheani replied. “Why was that _shemlen_ kissing you?”

Aldaron felt heat rise in his face, “You saw that?” he asked, somehow managing not to stammer.

“You were standing right there,” the girl pointed out.

It was true. They hadn’t made any attempt to hide, hadn’t thought they needed to. Because this was their room, the one place they didn’t have to worry about rumors or keeping up appearances or Dorian’s lingering insecurities. This was not how Aldaron wanted her to find out about Dorian, though. He’d wanted to at least introduce the man first. “Dorian is… we’re…” What, exactly? Sleeping together? It was more than that. In love? Well, yes. But both of them had always shied away from such poetic declarations. Well, Dorian had at least, and Aldaron never wanted to make him uncomfortable.

“Are you bonded?” Asheani asked.

“Not… technically,” Aldaron had to admit. Surprising that it had never bothered him before, but now explaining it to his family somehow it felt wrong. He didn’t like that. It wasn’t wrong. Things were different here than with the clan. They hadn’t discussed it, there hadn’t been time. And how could they get married anyway? The Chantry wouldn’t allow it (an elf and a human, and two men as well) and Aldaron had no clan, no Keeper to bond them together. If that was even something Dorian would want, would be comfortable with.

“But you’re going to?” Asheani asked with all the naivety of her youth. She was frowning, though. Looked quite a bit like their mother that way.

“We haven’t talked about it,” Aldaron replied. This conversation had taken a very strange turn. Asheani sounded confused, but the expression on her face was so much like their mother’s when scolding him. He wasn’t certain how to feel, but defensiveness was welling up inside him. She was his younger sister, a child; he didn’t have to explain himself to her.

“He’s a boy,” Asheani said as though trying to wrap her head around the idea. It wasn’t unheard of; he didn’t know why she was confused. They’d seen same-gender couples before. Was she only confused because it was Aldaron? He had never openly showed interest in anyone in their clan, man or woman, but that part of his attraction to Dorian hadn’t been a surprise to him at least. “And a _shem_.” The term was bit out like a curse and it stung even though it wasn’t directed at him. Except that it was, indirectly. Just like the clan in the Exalted Plains that had required he prove his loyalty to the Dalish, his association with humans was seen as a betrayal. Coming from family it hurt even more. Coming from a child it was insulting.

“I had noticed,” Aldaron said curtly, perhaps a bit too sharply. “He’s also from Tevinter and a mage. But that has nothing to do with it.”

He wasn’t sure what part of that had surprised her the most, but Asheani’s eyes grew wide as she watched him. “But…”

“A lot of things have happened since I left the clan,” Aldaron interrupted before she could voice whatever juvenile protests she still had or call Dorian a _shemlen_ again. That bothered him more than he cared to admit. “Most of it was bad,” he continued, “But Dorian was good. Is good. And he’s always stood by me and supported me, even when I was cruel to him. It doesn’t matter if he’s a human or anything else. That’s not why I love him.” The words were out of his mouth before he even realized he was speaking them. Love. The first time he’d said it aloud and it was while yelling at his sister. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. None of this was going how it was supposed to.

At least Asheani looked as startled as Aldaron felt. Of all things, this was probably the farthest from what she’d expected to find in Skyhold. Leader of the Inquisition: the clan had known that. Prophet to a human god: the whole world knew that. In love with a human man? There were people in the Inquisition who didn’t know that (beyond the rumors of course). She seemed stunned into silence by his declaration and Aldaron took the opportunity to flee the conversation.

“You should go back to sleep,” he said curtly. “It’s late.” He stood up and turned away from the bed. Maybe he could get some work done before going to bed himself. If he even could get to sleep himself.

“I’m sorry,” Asheani’s voice was quiet and sad.

Aldaron sighed. “I’m not mad at you, _da’ean_. But…” he turned back to her, all anger faded away. “Please give Dorian a chance. You might like him.” Oh how he wanted her to like him. She was all the family he had left. He wanted her to approve. “At least meet him. Please. For me.”

The girl stared at him uncertainly for a while before nodding. “I will,” she relented.

“Thank you,” Aldaron replied, and he meant it.

“You’re different, _isa’ma’lin_ ,” Asheani observed quietly.

“It’s been a very long year, _da’ean_ ,” Aldaron told her.

“For me, too,” the girl replied.

“I know,” Aldaron assured. He remembered keenly the initial pain of losing their family. But his sister had been there, witnessed it. She who had never even been hunting before. He couldn’t imagine. “Get some rest, _da’ean_. It’s safe here. I promise.”

Asheani nodded slightly and lay down again, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders and curling up on her side. Aldaron raked a hand through his hair and crossed the room to stoke up the dying fire. Then he gathered a sheaf of reports and letters from his desk and flopped down on the sofa to read until he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:  
> Asa'ma'lin/Asa'lin - Sister  
> Isa'ma'lin/Isa'lin - Brother  
> Da'ean - Little Bird  
> Mamae/Mae - Mother  
> Babae/Bae - Father  
> Ane eth. Unsilan na din - You're safe. I thought you were dead.


	2. Angry Little Bird

Dorian spotted them as soon as he walked into the hall, seated with Varric at the dwarf’s usual table by the fire. From the looks of things their resident storyteller was regaling Aldaron’s sister with some wild tale, likely of the Inquisitor’s many exploits.

The resemblance between the siblings was obvious. The girl had the same wild blond hair as her brother, though longer and tied back in a messy braid that ran down her back. Their faces were similar, too, despite that hers was bare of tattoos. But where Aldaron’s eyes were such a dark brown that for a long time Dorian had mistaken them for black, the girl’s were lighter, hazel. Dorian found himself wishing he’d had a chance to meet Aldaron’s parents, but he shook the thought from his head as he approached the table.

“Good morning, Inquisitor,” he greeted, smiling as Aldaron turned his face up toward him. But the smile faltered a little bit when he caught the hazel gaze of the young girl at his lover’s side. It had been a while since Dorian had seen such open distrust directed at him. He supposed the girl had every reason not to trust humans after what had happened to her. But this was his amatus’ family, whom Aldaron obviously cared for very deeply, so Dorian was determined to do his best to get along with the girl. “I fear we haven’t had the chance for a proper introduction,” he said cheerfully, to hide his nerves. He shouldn’t be nervous about meeting a teenage girl, how utterly ridiculous.

Aldaron seemed to pick up immediately on what Dorian was doing, because he sat up a little straighter in his seat before speaking. “Dorian, allow me to introduce my younger sister, Asheani. _Da’ean_ , this is Dorian, he…” the elf floundered for a moment, “is the Inquisition’s head researcher on history and magical theory.”

“You make me sound so terribly dull, Inquisitor,” Dorian chided, though the complaint carried no weight. It was a valiant effort to describe Dorian’s work for the Inquisiton. “It is an honor to meet you, Lady Lavellan,” he said, turning his attention back to the girl and bowing at the waist.

The distrust never left the girl’s eyes as she watched Dorian. It made him uncomfortable even though he knew it was justified. He did want to make a good impression, however, and heaping on the charm had always worked in the past, particularly with young girls. It certainly worked on Aldaron. Of course, he’d never had to deal with Dalish women before.

“ _Da’ean_ , this is usually where you say it’s nice to meet him, too,” Aldaron prompted when his sister remained silent. He tried to sound casual, teasing, but Dorian could hear the slight strain in his voice. Was his lover nervous, too? Afraid that his sister might not approve of his taste in romantic partners?

“That’s quite alright,” Dorian assured as he sat down across the table from Aldaron. Best to keep his distance for now so the girl didn’t think he was trying to steal her brother’s soul. It had been a while since he last had to worry about that. “I have that effect on people. And I imagine this all must be terribly overwhelming.” Food was already laid out on the table for breakfast and Dorian busied himself putting items on his own plate, “All this commotion and finery, and then to be confronted with my illustrious presence?”

Aldaron chuckled softly, and Dorian felt a tiny shred of relief. Heaping on the charm had always worked on him; Dorian was only hoping it would also work on his sister.

“You can ignore him,” Varric piped up from the mage’s side, “He’s all talk. Nothing to be scared of at all.”

“You wound me, Varric,” Dorian exclaimed in mock dismay. “I have a reputation to uphold, you know. Evil magister, and all that? You can’t just go around telling people that I’m nice.”

“See what I mean?” Varric said to the girl, who was looking a little less suspicious now, but was still remaining silent. “All flash, no heat.”

Dorian scoffed at the reference, Asheani looked briefly confused, Aldaron laughed until someone cleared their throat behind him. Dorian had been too distracted to notice Leliana approaching the table, of course the woman could be incredibly sneaky when she wanted to be. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said with a pleasant smile. “Inquisitor, could I borrow you for a moment? It will only take a few minutes, I promise.”

“Yes, alright,” Aldaron replied, but his smile was gone, expression settled into ‘serious Inquisitor face’ as Sera had aptly named it. “I’ll be right back,” he assured his sister before rising from his seat.

Dorian watched him go until he and Leliana had disappeared behind the door to Josephine’s office. Since the war had ended it was unusual for any of the Inquisitor’s advisors to interrupt him during a meal, but Leliana was set to leave for Val Royeaux in the next few weeks to take up her new mantle as Divine and there were likely a lot of last minute tasks to see to before she handed the position of Spymaster over to her successor. Taking his eyes from the door Dorian poured himself a cup of tea and raised it to his lips as his attention fell once more to the quiet young girl across the table.

“Are you in love with my brother?”

Dorian choked on his tea and fell into a rather embarrassing coughing fit. At his side Varric burst into laughter. “Excuse me?” he gasped when he eventually regained control of his throat, though his voice came out weaker than he would have liked.

“Are you in love with my brother?” the girl repeated, barely blinking as she stared across the table at Dorian.

The mage felt his cheeks heating up uncomfortably. “I…” he stammered, finding himself at a loss for words. No, not at a loss, but an unwillingness. The word ‘love’ had never crossed either his lips or Aldaron’s, at least not in the common tongue. It had never needed to. And Dorian was no fan of syrupy declarations anyway. “That is…” he tried again, but found the words continued to stick in his throat, as they always had.

“You’ll have to forgive him,” Varric interjected, finally prompting Asheani to take her eyes off of Dorian. “They don’t believe in emotions in Tevinter.”

The distraction allowed Dorian a split second to compose himself, “Yes, that is rather why I left,” he said curtly, hiding the thundering of his heart behind a well-practiced veil of sarcasm.

“But are you?” the girl asked again, insistently.

“I…” Dorian stammered again. “Wait, just a moment. What makes you think there is anything going on between your brother and myself?” Although it was hardly a secret anymore. Aldaron had seen to that two months ago when, drunk on watered down ale and high on victory, he had kissed Dorian in full sight of every single reveler in the tavern. The word had spread quickly and not a day later everyone in Skyhold was well aware of their Inquisitor’s romantic interests. And apparently happy about it. Prior to that evening their relationship had been Skyhold’s worst kept secret, but even now Dorian was still trying to get used to the idea that they had nothing to hide so it wasn’t as though they went about flaunting their relationship. And this girl had been here less than a day, during which she had seen Dorian and Aldaron together for perhaps half an hour at most. How could she possibly have figured it out?

“I saw you kissing last night,” Asheani said.

Varric chuckled under his breath, “Busted. You’ll have to come clean now, Sparkler.”

“I’ll thank you to stay out of this,” Dorian snapped. He knew what answer this girl wanted, and he knew that saying ‘yes’ wouldn’t be a lie, so why couldn’t he say it? Yes, he did love Aldaron, even though he had never said as much. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He’d never said it to Aldaron, never said ‘I love you’, so how could he say it first to someone else? The girl was still waiting for an answer, and she was remarkably patient and shockingly unyielding for someone of her age and size. “Don’t you think this is a conversation we should be having with your brother present?” he argued, grasping at straws and knowing full well why she’d only spoken up after Aldaron left. “Oh look, there he is now.” With great relief Dorian saw the door open and Aldaron step back out into the hall, sharing one last word with Leliana before heading back to the table again.

Asheani looked over her shoulder to confirm that he was telling the truth and Aldaron quickened his pace to join them again. “What did I miss?” he asked as he sat back down.

“Your sister is quite the gossip, did you know that?” Dorian asked, unable to hide how flustered he still was.

Aldaron frowned a little, glanced over at the girl, who was now playing innocent, and then asked, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m guessing she saw the two of you canoodling last night,” Varric said, looking far too amused by the situation. “And is trying to give Sparkler the shovel talk.”

“There was no canoodling!” Dorian protested vehemently.

“What?” Aldaron asked in surprise. He turned to his sister, who had the decency to look embarrassed, and then sighed in exasperation. “I’m so sorry, Dorian,” he reached across the table to give the man’s hand a squeeze. Dorian was still a bit flustered, but he returned the gesture all the same. “I had no idea she was going to say anything about it.” That was little comfort, some warning that she knew of their relationship would have been nice. “As for you,” the Inquisitor frowned and turned back to his sister, releasing Dorian’s hand. “We talked about this, Asheani.”

“You talked about this?” Dorian squawked. And Aldaron hadn’t thought to say anything?

“But he’s a _shem_ ,” the girl protested indignantly. “ _Mae_ and _Bae_ and Keeper always said not to trust _shemlen_.”

“This is different,” Aldaron argued.

“No it’s not,” Asheani objected. “They were right. Keeper tried being nice to the _shemlen_ in the city, she tried to help them, but now everyone’s gone because of it! First they took you away to this place, then they hurt everyone else! All they do is hurt people. The whole clan is gone because of _shemlen_ like him!” With tears in her eyes the girl pointed an accusing finger across the table at Dorian.

“Asheani that’s not fair,” Aldaron tried to argue, but his sister was having none of it.

“You’ve been around them so long you can’t see it anymore. You’re becoming one of them,” the girl accused.

“That’s not true,” Aldaron protested, and Dorian saw the hurt on his face clear as day. This was not a conversation for the main hall. Already they were drawing attention. And Aldaron was getting upset.

“Why don’t we all take a deep breath and calm down,” it was Varric who took the chance of interrupting the siblings. “Before either of you say something you’ll regret.” Unfortunately his words seemed to go unheard.

“It’s your fault _Mae_ and _Bae_ are gone!” Asheani continued. “You care more about your _shemlen_ than your own clan, or you would have done something to help! You wouldn’t have let them all die.”

Aldaron was shocked into silence, eyes wide and brows drawn together in dismay. He looked on the verge of tears and that concerned Dorian greatly. “You can’t possibly believe that’s true,” he said, and had to restrain himself from going around the table to comfort his lover. That would probably only make this worse. “Aldaron did everything he could. But we were rather busy at the time trying to stop the end of the world.”

“Nobody asked you, _shem_ ,” the girl spit out with such venom that Dorian physically recoiled in shock.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Aldaron leapt to his defense, an even further shock. “Dorian is a good man.”

Asheani tensed, clenched her jaw and her fists in indignant rage. “You like him more than you like me,” she snapped, and stood up quickly before fleeing across the hall and out the door to the gardens.

Aldaron was on his feet, her name on his lips and a hand reaching out after her, but the girl was gone and he did not immediately move to chase after her.

“Leave her be, Treehugger,” Varric advised, “Give her some time to get used to the idea. I know your folk aren’t big on strangers, and she’s got plenty of reasons not to trust us. We are the big scary organization that took her brother away.”

Slowly, Aldaron turned back toward them and took his seat, but he still looked concerned. “Relax,” Dorian said, “Nothing can happen to her here. The most dangerous thing in that garden is Mother Giselle, and after this display I think your sister can handle her.” But Aldaron did not seem comforted. His gaze was fixed firmly on the table and his shoulders were tense. “Are you alright?” Dorian asked in concern. The girl’s words had been harsh, and Dorian knew well how much worse it stung to hear such things from family.

Aldaron took a steadying breath before answering in a steady voice, “Yes,” but even as he said it the Inquisitor gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Varric nudged him in the ribs, as though Dorian hadn’t noticed as well. Aldaron was not alright, but this was not a conversation for the main hall. Not when they’d already drawn so much attention. The Inquisitor still had a reputation to uphold. “Well, I find I’ve lost my appetite,” Dorian said, pushing his plate away though he’d barely touched the food. “Time to get back to work, I think. I’ve started some new research, would you care to see, Inquisitor?”

Aldaron raised his eyes from the table and looked across at him, confused for a moment before he seemed to catch on. “I would love to,” he answered. Maybe even a little relieved for the excuse to get out of here. So Dorian rose from his seat and promised Varric a game of Wicked Grace at the tavern later before taking his leave, Aldaron hot on his heels as he slipped out of the hall.

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked as they stepped into the relative privacy of the rotunda. The space had been cleared out of all of Solas’ possessions (in storage somewhere now) but no one had quiet decided what to do with the unfinished murals yet. All of that went easily ignored, however, as he turned to face his lover. Aldaron’s gaze was on the floor, his expression twisted in anguish. Asheani’s words had been harsh, and struck right where Aldaron was most vulnerable. “You know it wasn’t your fault,” Dorian said gently. Aldaron just nodded mutely, his eyes still fixed on the floor. Not a terribly convincing display. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said again, more insistent.

“She thinks so,” Aldaron said quietly.

“People think lots of things, it doesn’t make them right,” Dorian replied.

“But she’s my sister!” Aldaron exclaimed, and then quieted down quickly with a wary glance up toward the rookery. “And she thinks I… She thinks I betrayed the clan.”

“You did nothing of the sort,” Dorian said. They had been over this before more than once. “In fact, you did everything in your power to help them, as I understand.”

Aldaron nodded slowly, and clearly the words were getting through to him somewhat. “Do you think she hates me because of it? Because I wasn’t there for her?”

“From the way she was attempting to defend your honor the moment you stepped out of the room I think it’s safe to say she doesn’t hate you,” Dorian replied. It seemed more like the girl hated him, actually. She probably blamed him for every way that Aldaron had changed in their time apart or every bad thing that had ever happened to him. “She doesn’t mince words, your sister.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Aldaron agreed. “She’s always been like that. Last night she…” the elf hesitated and looked down at the floor, fidgeting nervously and cheeks slightly pink. “After you left she asked if we were… married.”

“Married?” Dorian asked. He wasn’t sure if he should feel shocked or embarrassed or laugh at the notion. “She saw one little kiss and thought that?”

“She’s only thirteen,” Aldaron argued, “And with the clan things were… less complicated.” He fidgeted more, shifting from foot to foot and wringing his hands. Why was he so worked up about this? The Chantry wouldn’t even let them get married (before, at least, now that wasn’t so certain). But would the elves? Dorian wondered suddenly. He didn’t know the first thing about Dalish marriage customs. If the world hadn’t been ending, would Aldaron be married by now? Off in the woods somewhere, filling the world with more elves? Dorian couldn’t picture that at all, and he didn’t want to anyway.

Did Aldaron want to get married? Regardless of whether or not it was actually possible, was that something his lover wanted? He had certainly never given any indication, if that was the case. It was such a foreign concept to Dorian. All of his life marriage had seemed more like a death sentence than something to covet. Of course Aldaron’s upbringing had been very different, and his ideas about romance still largely unjaded. Swallowing back the sudden embarrassing bout of nerves, Dorian actually had to turn away for a moment to compose himself. “Naturally, you corrected her?” he asked when he could face Aldaron again.

“I told her the truth,” Aldaron assured him, but he frowned a little bit.

Meaning what, exactly? Dorian was hopelessly muddling up this conversation, as he had a tendency to do whenever talking about their relationship. “Well, good,” he said curtly, afraid that anything else would just make the conversation worse. To his great relief, Aldaron seemed to accept the answer.

The elf dropped the subject, but was silent for a short moment before he spoke again. “What did Asheani say to you?” he asked.

“Oh, that…” Dorian hesitated, still uncomfortable. No, not uncomfortable, shy. Dorian Pavus shy, what a laughable idea. “She… She asked if I loved you. It caught me off guard.”

Aldaron sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I had no idea she would say anything. I’m sorry; I should have warned you that she knew about us.”

“I do, by the way,” Dorian interrupted before Aldaron could continue apologizing for things that weren’t his fault. He would have appreciated a warning, yes, but doubted that would have prepared him any better for the girl’s question. The statement did break the elf’s train of thought, and he turned dark eyes up toward Dorian. “Love you,” he clarified, and for once the words came easy. Shockingly easy. He watched Aldaron’s eyes go wide and his jaw drop open as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. “Well there’s no need to look so surprised.”

“I’m not, I…” Aldaron stammered, still staring up at Dorian. Such a terrible liar sometimes. Then he smiled, small at first, then widening into a grin. “I love you, too.”

Now it was Dorian’s turn to be stunned. He knew. Of course he’d known how Aldaron felt, but he’d never realized that hearing it spoken aloud would make such a difference. Moving without thinking, he took Aldaron’s face in his hands and kissed him hard. The elf let out a muffled squeak of surprise, but relaxed again soon enough, melting against Dorian as he returned the kiss. When they parted both were breathless and Aldaron’s face was flushed. “Well,” Dorian commented, “I’m glad we’ve finally got that out in the open.”

Aldaron chuckled softly. “Did you still want to show me that research?” he asked.

“Did you ever truly want to see it?” Dorian asked in reply.

“Not really, no,” Aldaron admitted.

“Good, because I don’t actually have anything to show you,” Dorian grinned. “At this point I would suggest taking the servants’ halls back to your quarters and staying there for the rest of the morning, at least. Maybe longer.”

“Mmm…” Aldaron smiled at the idea, “As nice as that sounds,” he murmured, and reluctantly pulled out of Dorian’s embrace, “I should go find my sister.”

 “Of course,” Dorian answered quickly. He knew Aldaron was probably sick with worry regardless of how safe the girl would be in Skyhold. She had been thought dead a day ago, after all. “How very selfish of me.”

“It’s alright to be selfish sometimes,” Aldaron commented, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.  

“You stole that line from me, you little thief,” Dorian said in amusement and watched that smile grow wider. “But I’ll accept a rain check this time. Tonight?”

He watched the regret wash over Aldaron’s face and knew immediately what the answer would be. “I don’t know if she’s comfortable being alone yet,” the elf said softly. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not fair to you, but…”

“But frightened children are more important,” Dorian finished for him with a sigh. “No, I understand.” He had never officially moved into the Inquisitor’s quarters, but he had been living there for months now and somewhere along the line had begun thinking of it as ‘their’ room. How nauseatingly domestic.

“Just for a few days, I promise,” Aldaron told him. “I’ll talk to her.”

“I don’t think she’s very keen on me,” Dorian commented. It was embarrassing how much acknowledging that hurt. “And completely without reason, too. I mean, look at me. What’s not to like? Although, I suppose I am the nasty human who is deflowering her brother. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be under constant suspicion. I don’t miss it as much as I’d thought.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Aldaron promised again, and leaned up to kiss him softly, a gesture that Dorian eagerly accepted. “She just doesn’t know you yet. I’m sure she’ll like you when she does.”

“Of course she will, everyone does,” Dorian replied flippantly, hiding the fact that he was actually concerned that she might not. And what would Aldaron do if his baby sister never approved of her brother’s relationship? Dorian was only just getting used to the idea that no one around here disapproved of their relationship. Difficult after a lifetime of shame and fear. He tried to tell himself that Aldaron wouldn’t choose loyalty to his family over Dorian, but he didn’t actually know that.

“She will,” Aldaron repeated, as though he knew exactly what Dorian was thinking. “She just needs a little time. This is probably all overwhelming for her. She’s never been away from the clan before. I’ll talk to her,” he promised for the third time. “Maybe we can all have dinner together in private. I… I really want you to get along.”

“As do I,” Dorian was quick to assure him. And he had been trying before the girl had started yelling and accusing him of things. “Hopefully she’ll be more willing to hold an actual conversation later.”

“I’ll see you tonight, then?” Aldaron asked.

“Of course,” Dorian replied. “The chance to be interrogated by a teenage girl? How could I pass that up?”

“Dorian…” His lover admonished gently.

“Yes, I know, I apologize,” Dorian sighed. He had serious doubts that this dinner would be anything but awkward and unpleasant. That being said, Dorian had sat through his fair share of awkward and unpleasant dinner parties in his lifetime, what was one more? “She’s your family. I will be on my very best behavior, no matter what she says about me, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Aldaron said sincerely. He pressed another soft kiss to Dorian’s lips and then stepped away, out of the man’s reach before either of them could be distracted again. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“I wish I could say I was looking forward to it,” Dorian told him honestly. “But I’m just hoping it won’t go as terribly as breakfast.”

“So am I,” Aldaron sighed before turning to leave. Dorian watched him until the door cut off his view, then turned and headed up into the library.


	3. Melancholy Little Bird

She had fled into the gardens. A bit of an accident – she didn’t know her way around this stone fortress yet – but a happy one. She felt more comfortable here than she had in that dark stuffy hall. Even this place was crowded with _shemlen_ though. She couldn’t escape them here, they were everywhere. So she found a place in the back corner of the courtyard where the plants had grown high and hid herself there, sitting with her back pressed to the trunk of a tree.

She sat there alone for a long while before she heard the only voice in this place that she recognized. “Asheani,” her brother called out. Hesitantly she turned and peered around the tree. It was easy to spot him, walking through the garden confidently, not at all bothered by the stone walls or the humans everywhere. He looked around briefly before spotting her hiding spot. “There you are,” he said, breathing a sigh as he headed in her direction.

She turned away and crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly. “Go away.”

“I just want to talk, _asa’lin_ ,” Aldaron said. When he reached her he sat down slowly on the ground beside her. She didn’t look at him. “You promised you would give him a chance.”

He sounded like their parents, scolding her and telling her how to behave. Aldaron had never done that before, he always used to play with her, to stand up for her. “I did,” she protested. “I met him. I don’t like him.”

“You didn’t say a word to him that wasn’t an insult,” Aldaron said quickly, defensive and angry. It shocked her. Aldaron had never been angry at her before. They had been apart only a year and a half, but he had changed so much. “That’s not giving him a chance.”

Asheani pouted. She didn’t see why she had to. He was a _shem_ and they were all the same; all pretty talk until they got tired of dealing with the ‘knife ears’. They would use the first excuse they had to be rid of them. The clan hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t even set foot in their stupid city. They just wanted somewhere safe to camp until the fighting was over. Asheani pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly. “I don’t like it here,” she said quietly. “I want to go home.”

By her side Aldaron sighed softly. “I didn’t like it here at first, either,” he told her. “But it’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

“You’re not scared of all the _shemlen_?” she asked.

Aldaron shook his head, “Not anymore. I used to be. When… When this all started they wanted to kill me. Something went wrong, so blame the first elf you can find, right? But they were scared, too, and people do stupid things when they’re scared, things they wouldn’t do otherwise. They’re good people. Even Cassandra’s not that scary when you get to know her.” Asheani looked at him sideways. She didn’t remember meeting a ‘Cassandra’. She hadn’t had time to meet much of anyone, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to. She didn’t want to stay here, but where else could she go? Aldaron was her only family left, which was why Mithran had brought her here. Would he stay in this cold fortress now that he didn’t have to worry about her? He was a craftsman, he could easily find a new clan who would use his skills. She was just a bare-faced child. No one would want her. “Is that why you don’t like Dorian?” Aldaron asked after a moment of silence. “Are you scared of him?”

How couldn’t she be? A _shem_ , and Aldaron even said he was Tevinter: the worst kind of _shem_. How could Aldaron fall in love with someone like that? It had to be a ploy, didn’t it? An act? The man couldn’t even say whether or not he loved Aldaron back.

“You don’t need to be afraid of him, _da’ean_ ,” Aldaron said gently. “He pretends not to be, but he’s really very nice. He won’t hurt you.”

“What about you?” Asheani asked quietly.

“Me?” Aldaron look confused for a moment, then he actually laughed. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh since she arrived. “ _Da’ean_ , if Dorian wanted to hurt me he would have done it a long time ago.”

For that, Asheani had no argument. It was probably true. For over a year Aldaron had been living in this place, surrounded by these people. Actually leading these people. Asheani had already seen him dole out orders to human servants. But how much longer until the _shemlen_ got tired of taking orders from a knife-ear?

“Asheani,” Aldaron spoke again after a long moment of silence, and his voice is soft and hesitant. “I… I really want the two of you to get along.”

When she looked over at him Aldaron was staring down at his hands and she was startled by how uncertain he looked. What had happened to the brother she’d known before, who was outspoken and stubborn and always getting in trouble? The closest she had seen to the Aldaron she remembered was when he was defending that _shemlen_ mage. He used to defend her like that. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I care about both of you,” Aldaron replied easily. “You’re my family.”

“I’m your family,” Asheani argued. “He’s just some _shem_ who’s using you. And now you like him more than you like me.”

“That’s not true,” Aldaron protested. “He’s not using me at all, and I love both of you. That’s why I want you to be friends. I don’t want to lose either of you.”

Asheani looked down at her knees again. That was exactly what she was afraid of, on top of everything else. She had lost her brother once already when he went off to spy on the humans and never came home. Then she had lost her parents and all her friends. Now Aldaron was all she had left, but he didn’t need her anymore. He had his mage and his Inquisition, all the _shemlen_ fawning over him. It was all he talked about. She couldn’t help feeling bitter, jealous. Like she was being replaced. “What’s so great about him anyway?” she muttered, mostly to herself. But of course Aldaron heard.

“He’s…” Aldaron began, and then stopped himself. He frowned a little and stared into the distance. “It’s complicated. We’ve been through so much together. Whenever things got… overwhelming during the war he was always there for me, even though I’m sure he had his own troubles. He doesn’t like to let people in, so he pretends to be above it all, but he’s really very caring. And sweet, when he wants to be. And he’s…” her brother paused and looked down at his lap, cheeks tinged pink but not from the sun. “He’s very pretty.”

Asheani pulled a face. Pretty? Maybe for a _shem_. “He has hair on his face,” she muttered.

Aldaron let out a soft huff of laughter. “He does,” he confirmed, sounding amused. “It suits him, though. I like it.” Whenever he spoke about the man Aldaron got this stupid dreamy look on his face. It had happened the night before, then again this morning on their way down to breakfast, and it was happening right now. Whatever game the man was playing her brother had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. “I asked him to have dinner with us tonight,” Aldaron said again, interrupting her thoughts. “In private. I can invite Mithran also if you want.”

The idea of being alone with only her brother and some human didn’t make Asheani very comfortable. “Do I have to?”

“I’m not asking you to trust him right away, I just want you to give him a chance. I know you’ll like him if you get to know him,” Aldaron insisted. “I’ll invite Mithran as well, then you won’t have to be alone. We’ll go find him right now. I still need to show you both around anyway.”

“Do I have to stay here?” Asheani asked quietly. She didn’t like this place. She didn’t like how it had changed her brother. She missed her family. She wanted to go home.

Aldaron sighed softly. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I know everything here is strange and different. I know you’re scared. But this… This is my home now. I’m not sure I would go back to the clan even if I could. If you really don’t want to stay here… We can find somewhere else for you to go. I know another clan in Orlais. Their keeper is nice. I’m certain they would take you in if I asked.”

“I don’t want another clan,” Asheani mumbled and hugged her knees tighter. “I want our clan.”

A moment later she felt Aldaron’s arms wrap around her shoulders as he pulled her into a tight hug. “Me, too,” he whispered against the shell of her ear, barely loud enough for her to make out the words. The tears came suddenly and in a flood. She wrapped her arms around him in turn, pressing her face into his chest and the too-soft fabric of his shirt. She’d thought that she had already shed all the tears she possibly could, but now they would not stop. Aldaron didn’t say a word the whole time, just held her close and rubbed her back gently as she sobbed into his chest.

Eventually her tears dried up once more, but Asheani stayed in her brother’s embrace for long moments afterward. Sitting here with him in the garden like this she could almost pretend, for a moment, that everything was back to normal. But of course it wasn’t, and never would be again. It was that thought that finally had her pulling out of his embrace and wiping her eyes. Aldaron was watching her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze, then all of a sudden he was getting to his feet, grabbing her hands and pulling her up as well. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

“What is it?” Asheani asked as she let him pull her across the garden.

Aldaron did not answer, but he stopped in front of a young sapling barely as tall as Asheani herself. The ground around it was well tended and marked out by a carefully placed circle of stones. On one of the stones someone had inlaid a metal plaque. Aldaron released her hand and crouched down, brushing a bit of dirt from the lettering before reading aloud, “‘This tree planted in memory of Clan Lavellan and all innocents lost to war.’ I don’t know who ordered the plaque, but it’s nice.” Still crouching on the ground Aldaron turned his gaze up into the sapling’s few spindly branches.  “I couldn’t go to Wycome to give them a proper funeral, and I couldn’t plant a tree for everyone, it wasn’t practical, but I had to do something for them.” He stood up again and brushed dirt off his knees. “I miss them,” he told Asheani quietly, “I’ll probably always miss them. But I’ve realized that I still have people that I care about, and that care about me. So it doesn’t hurt so much anymore, because even though the clan is gone I still have a family. I still have you,” he said with a small smile, “And Dorian, and everyone else here. I’m not alone, and neither are you, _da’ean_. I’ll always be here for you. And so will everyone at Skyhold if you’ll let them.”

Asheani looked up at him with eyes still red from crying. He was so different from how she remembered; more serious, more mature. “When did you get so smart?”

Aldaron’s brows shot up in surprise as he looked down at her. “Smart?” he asked, then let out a bark of slightly bitter laughter. “I’m not smart. I just know how you feel, _asa’lin_.”

Of course he did. She wasn’t the only one who had lost family. It was selfish to think she was the only one still mourning. “I’m sorry for yelling at you before,” she said quietly, looking down at the ground.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Aldaron said.

Asheani bit her lip. It was so much easier to apologize to her brother. But her words had mostly been directed at his companion, and that had obviously upset him. “I’m sorry for yelling at him, too,” she said eventually.

“I forgive you,” Aldaron replied, then smiled a real smile and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Now, come on. Let’s find Mithran and I’ll show you around. Maybe get you some clean clothes while we’re at it.”

 

* * *

  
Shyhold was enormous. Asheani had known that the first time she set eyes on the fortress from the road up the mountain, but it actually seemed even bigger from inside. A maze of halls and stairs and walltops as Aldaron lead her and Mithran on a grand tour of his new home. They met more people than she could keep track of, and Aldaron said there had once been even more people here. He seemed sad when he explained that some people were already going back to the lives they’d lived before the sky exploded. Asheani had a hard time imagining any more people.

For the post part everyone was very polite; ‘happy to meet you’ and ‘I’m terribly sorry about your family’ and ‘how do you like Skyhold?’. Aldaron - and even Mithran – seemed perfectly at ease chatting with anyone who came up. Asheani could barely manage one-word answers and shy smiles, staying as close to her brother as possible.

Aldaron took them to a seamstress – tailor, she was corrected. An Orlesian woman with such a thick accent that Asheani could barely understand a word she said. While she didn’t enjoy being poked and prodded and measured, Asheani was looking forward to a new outfit. She had been wearing this since leaving the Free Marches and the fabrics here were so colorful and soft, unlike anything she’d seen before.

“You can pick out anything you like,” Aldaron said, watching her run her hands over silk and brocade in wonder.

“Some of these must be terribly expensive,” Mithran commented, frowning a little.

“Probably,” Aldaron replied, but didn’t sound terribly concerned. “The Inquisition already paid for it, though.”

But there are so many choices Asheani doesn’t even know where to begin. She’d never had much choice in what to wear before, and certainly nothing like what is available here. As though sensing her dilemma, the tailor picked up a bolt of deep green fabric and held it out to her. “You have your brother’s coloring, my lady,” she said in that unintelligible accent, “So perhaps we start with something familiar?”

“Y-yes,” Asheani stammered. She reached out to touch the fabric offered to her, felt it slide through her fingers like water. How did they even make fabric like this? But was it really alright for her to have something this nice? Shyly, she looked back over at her brother, who had been watching her like a hawk all day, his expression unreadable. “Is it really alright?”

“Of course,” Aldaron assured her, and smiled. “You like that one?” Asheani only nodded quietly. She liked most of the fabrics, honestly, and could still scarcely believe that she was being offered such fine clothes as though it was nothing. It felt like she was being spoiled, and she was unaccustomed to such attention, but she didn’t dislike it.

“A very good choice,” the Orlesian woman praised as she took the fabric back and set it aside. “We will have you out of these filthy rags by the morning.”

Self-consciously, Asheani looked down at what she was wearing now. Filthy rags? Yes, the simple tunic and leggings had certainly seen better days, but they weren’t rags. Although… She glanced over at her brother. His clothes had been cut in an approximation of Dalish style, but they were the same fine fabrics offered to her, immaculately tailored and decorated with polished silver fastenings. In comparison her own wardrobe was little better than rags, wasn’t it? But this was all she had, all she had ever had. Mithran’s clothes were scarcely nicer, and Aldaron had dressed like this when he lived with the clan. Everyone here had such nice things, though, even the soldiers. How had it taken her so long to notice the difference? All the people she had met so far, what must they think of her? What did she look like to them?

“Something wrong?” Aldaron asked, drawing her out of her thoughts.

Asheani looked up at him and shook her head. “No,” she lied, hoping he wouldn’t see through it. “I’m fine.”

Whether or not he believed her, Aldaron let the subject drop and turned his attention to Mithran instead. The craftsman, however, shook his head. “I’ve been making my own clothing for most of my life, I don’t see why I should stop now,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Aldaron asked. He looked concerned, maybe even a little hurt.

“It’s a very generous offer _lethallin_ ,” Mithran assured him. “But I have no need for such finery. I’ll see to my own needs.”

“Oh.” For a moment Aldaron’s face crumpled, and then it went emotionless. “Alright. I’ll show you the undercroft, then. You can use the tools there.”

So they were off again, winding their way through the fortress and back to the main hall. The dwarf – Varric – was still sitting at the table where they had eaten breakfast, though it was now covered in papers and books. He glanced up as they passed and when he noticed Asheani staring offered a smile and a wave that she returned shyly. In hindsight now she felt ashamed of her outburst that morning. Aldaron was right; she hadn’t been fair, jumping straight to anger and suspicion when no one here had given her reason to dislike them. If anything, the people of Skyhold had been exceptionally welcoming. She should be thanking them. Only everything was so different from what she had expected, so different from what she was used to.

It did not take long for Mithran to make friends in the undercroft. Only moments after meeting the human blacksmith and dwarven enchanter, Mithran was hunched over a table with them discussing the finer points of working with ironbark. The three didn’t even notice when Aldaron and Asheani eventually slipped back out into the hall. At least one of them was enjoying themselves here, Asheani thought bitterly, but it was still one more person who liked this place more than they liked her.

 

* * *

The elven woman in the tavern actually screamed when she saw the siblings together. “She’s like a miniature you!” she exclaimed, “Well, not very miniature. An’ without the tree,” she amended, gesturing vaguely toward Aldaron’s face.

“It’s not a tree,” Aldaron sighed with the resignation of someone who had made the same argument a hundred times. “Asheani this is Sera,” he said politely, “And this is--,”

“I know who she is, yeah? Everyone does,” Sera replied, grinning from ear to ear.

“Everyone?” Aldaron asked in surprise. Asheani was equally shocked, and somewhat frightened.

“Well sure,” Sera shrugged, “Word gets ‘round fast here, an’ it’s not every day the Inquisitor’s family comes back from the dead. ‘S good, though. Everyone’s real happy. You deserve a bit of good after everything.”

Aldaron flushed and smiled a tiny bit. “Thanks,” he mumbled, and then quickly composed himself. “I was just showing her around, introducing her to people. And I… uh… I wondered if you might have something she could wear? Just so this can be cleaned, and until the tailor’s done.”

“You wanna borrow my clothes?” she sounded as surprised as Asheani felt.

“Just for a day or two,” Aldaron assured. “She doesn’t have anything else. You’re the only one who might be small enough. Please. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind?” Sera seemed absolutely flabbergasted, but also excited. “’Course I don’t mind. It’ll be fun, yeah? My clothes’re better than whatever than fancy-pants tailor’s gonna stick you in. Right then, better get started. Come on,” she grinned wide and eager as she grabbed Asheani by both arms and pulled the elven girl into her room. Then she looked Aldaron straight in the face and said, “No boys allowed,” before shutting the door on him.

Even through the door Asheani could hear her brother’s surprised “What?”

“You heard me!” Sera called back. “Go climb a tree or somethin’.”

There was no reply from Aldaron for a moment, and then a resigned, “Please no plaid. We’re having dinner with Dorian.”

Sera looked down at Asheani and rolled her eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Shove off!” They waited a moment in silence to see if Aldaron would say anything more, but were greeted only by silence. “Alright, then,” Sera grinned. She let go of Asheani’s arms and turned around. The room was a mess of colors and fabrics, pillows littering the floor and knickknacks covering every available surface, but Sera went straight for a trunk pushed up against the wall. Pulling it open revealed another mess of colors and fabric, apparently all clothes.

Sera wasn’t quite as small as Asheani (who was perfectly average for her age, thank you, she was still growing) and her clothes were still too large. But with belts and a bit of quick sewing they cobbled together an outfit that fit. The whole time Sera chatted endlessly about everything and nothing. Asheani could barely get a word in edgewise, and the other elf’s train of thought was difficult to follow at times. But even though Sera was clearly not Dalish, something about her made Asheani feel a little less homesick. Maybe because she wasn’t full of empty platitudes and condolences like everyone else. She treated Asheani like an old friend, laughing and joking. Like things used to be with Aldaron.

“Sera, can I ask you something?” Asheani asked shyly. Dressed now, she sat down on the window seat and pulled her feet up onto the cushions.

“Sure,” Sera replied. She had an armful of clothes, which she dumped unceremoniously back into the chest before joining Asheani by the window. “What’s on?”

“You’ve been here a long time, right?” the girl asked.

“Since the beginning,” Sera answered, “Well, almost the beginning. Missed the sky exploding and raining demons, but you won’t find me complaining about that. Real glad I missed that part, actually.”

“And you’re close with my brother? You’re friends?”

“Sure, guess so,” Sera shrugged. “I mean I like him. He’s fun when he’s not being all serious Inquistor-y tryin’ to look good for all the foreign nobs. And when he’s not being too elfy.”

Too elfy? Asheani wasn’t sure what that meant, but it didn’t matter right now. “He’s different from how I remember. And everyone keeps acting like Al’s been through horrible things, but they only want to tell stories about fancy parties and dragons and stuff. No one will tell me what happened.”

The smile faded off Sera’s face for the first time since Asheani had met her. “Not really our place to tell, yeah? Lotta stuff happened. Weird stuff, bad stuff, some good stuff too, I guess. You wanna know about it, you ask him. I’ll tell you this, though. He used to be no fun at all, kept to himself and didn’t even smile or nothing. Still does it sometimes, but he’s better now the war’s over, and since Dorian.”

Asheani frowned. That’s what she was afraid of hearing. She could ask Aldaron, but would he give her an honest answer? Or would he sugar coat the truth to keep her from worrying? She was already worrying, though, that would only make it worse. “Can I ask you something else, then?”

“Sure, you can ask me anything,” Sera assured her.

“What do you think of Dorian?”

“Dorian?” Sera asked in surprise. “He’s alright, I guess. Bit stuck up sometimes, but he means well. This ‘cause he’s shagging your brother? Oh!” she stopped suddenly, “I shouldn’t’ve said that. How old are you?”

“I’m thirteen,” Asheani said defensively. She wasn’t a little kid. She knew about… that. That didn’t mean she wanted to think about it, though. Especially not with her brother involved.

“Sure you don’t wanna hear about that, then. I don’t even wanna hear about that,” Sera pulled a disgusted face briefly before continuing on. “But they’re proper in love, they are. Disgusting, really. Always making moony eyes at each other when they think no one’s looking. You seen ‘em, yeah?”

Asheani shook her head. “I only met him at breakfast. They didn’t seem like that. But whenever Al talks about him he makes this stupid face like…” she frowned, unable really to describe why the expression bothered her so much.

“Like he’s just seen the most amazing thing in the world?” Sera offered.

“Yes, like that,” Asheani agreed. That was exactly what it looked like. And maybe that’s why it bothered her. She still didn’t understand what was so great about some fancy human mage.

“Gross, innit?” Sera said sympathetically. Asheani could only nod in agreement. “Don’t think they even realize. Suppose they’re happy, though, and that’s what matters. Ugh,” she groaned suddenly, annoyed, “Now you got me being all mushy, too. Gotta talk about something else. You wanna go make cookies?”

“What are cookies?” Asheani asked curiously.

Sera’s eyes went wide, “What’re--?” she stammered. “Shite, now we gotta make ‘em. Come on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you write teenagers omg.
> 
> I don't think Aldaron fully understands how money works.


	4. Lonely Little Bird

Aldaron wasn’t completely comfortable letting his baby sister out of his sight, but he told himself that she was perfectly safe in Skyhold. Even with Sera. However, being abandoned by the two people he had planned to spend the day with left him feeling somewhat lost. It was only midday and he had nothing to do and that was… odd. There had been so much to do during the war that the Inquisitor had never been able to take a day off. In the weeks following Corypheus’ defeat there had still been things to do, people to meet, parties to attend, restoration efforts to plan. Now everything was petering off and there was little that required the Inquisitor’s personal attention.

As he wandered out of the tavern Aldaron briefly considered going to find Dorian to pick up where they’d left off that morning, but no. The man would be engrossed in his research by now and wouldn’t appreciate an interruption.

To be honest there was probably something sitting on the Inquisitor’s desk for him to read, but Aldaron loathed paperwork. Besides, if he finished everything now there wouldn’t be anything to do if he woke up in the middle of the night. So really he wasn’t procrastinating at all as he made his way up onto the walls and sat on the parapet to look out at the mountains. He sat there for only a few minutes before he heard someone come up and take a seat beside him.

Glancing over, Aldaron had to smile, not at all surprised by who had come to join him. “Hello, Cole,” he said.

“Hello,” Cole replied. “You looked lonely. Now you’re not anymore.”

“Yes,” Aldaron admitted. There was no sense in denying these things from him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Cole replied, sounding pleased to know he’d helped in some small way. Aldaron knew that he was finding it more difficult to help people now that they remembered him more often than not. “She’s lonely, too.”

“Who is?” Aldaron asked curiously.

“The little bird,” Cole answered as if it were obvious.

Aldaron knew immediately who he was talking about. Asheani’s childhood nickname, _da’ean_ , little bird. “My sister?”

“Yes,” Cole nodded. “Lost and lonesome, left behind. She needs a family, but her family doesn’t need her.”

Aldaron frowned. Her family doesn’t need her? “What does that mean?” he asked. Did that mean him? But she was his sister, he still loved her and he wouldn’t send her away.

Cole frowned as well and cocked his head to the side as though listening to something that he couldn’t quite hear. “The other one won’t stay, and you have lots of new friends. You have a new family, so you don’t need the old one anymore.”

Mithran wouldn’t stay. Aldaron had expected that. The craftsman was too old to adjust to a new way of life; to adjust to Skyhold. Another clan would take him in; he was very skilled and would be useful to them. Still, it was depressing to have that prospect confirmed. What concerned him the most, though, were the rest of Cole’s words. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want my family back,” he protested painfully. He had spent weeks grieving their loss and he was ecstatic to learn that Asheani was still alive, even if her presence was a painful reminder that he would never see the rest of the clan again. “I would have given anything to see them again.”

“I made it worse, I’m sorry,” Cole apologized quickly.

Aldaron shook his head. “No, it’s alright,” he assured softly. The memory of that loss still hurt, but it hurt less now. Maybe it would always hurt. Maybe that was a good thing. “So why are you talking to me and not her?”

“She wouldn’t like me right now,” Cole said knowingly. “She’s still afraid of humans and I can’t always make people forget anymore. And she’s with Sera now. They’re going to make cookies.”

“Cookies?” Aldaron felt the smallest twinge of childish jealousy. He wanted to make cookies.

“You should go join them,” Cole enthused, obviously picking up on Aldaron’s feelings about cookies.

It was tempting. He liked making cookies with Sera. Well, mostly he liked eating cookies and spending time with Sera. But if he barged in now he doubted it would go over very well. “No,” he shook his head. “They don’t want me there. No boys allowed,” he repeated Sera’s words. “It’s fine, though. I want Asheani to make friends here.”

“So she won’t leave?” Cole asked, though it did not feel like a question.

“Is that wrong of me?” Aldaron asked, looking down at his hands in his lap. “We were always close when we were children. And she’s the only family I have left. But… Maybe it would be better to find a clan for her to join. She’s still Dalish, and she should have the opportunity to keep learning our traditions, to get her vallaslin. She can’t do that here.”

“Is it bad if she doesn’t?” Cole asked curiously.

It was a more complicated question than Cole probably realized. “Well… It’s not bad, but…” he tried to explain. Lots of elves went around without vallaslin. City elves. But he knew plenty of city elves now and they were good people as much as the Dalish were. He didn’t want to imply there was anything wrong with them for not knowing Dalish traditions. “But she’s Dalish and it’s… It’s part of our culture. It’s important.”

Cole made a thoughtful noise and looked out at the mountains. Even with all of the spirit-turned-boy’s insights Aldaron wasn’t sure he understood the importance of traditions to the Dalish. Asheani was young enough that maybe she didn’t, either. Finally Cole spoke up again, “You’re afraid if she stays here she won’t be Dalish anymore.”

“I…” Aldaron began to deny it, but it was completely true. “Not that there’s anything wrong with city elves,” he said instead. “Even the Dalish don’t know everything about our ancestors, but… That’s why it’s so important to remember what we do know. And I know she’s just one person and it shouldn’t matter if one person forgets, but…”

“But she’s your sister,” Cole finished for him.

“Exactly,” Aldaron mumbled. “She’s my sister, and she’s the only family I have left. I want her to stay. But I also want what’s best for her, and maybe that means letting her go.”

“What does she want?” Cole asked, turning to look at him again.

The question startled Aldaron. He had given Asheani the option to stay here and offered to find a clan that would take her in, but he realized suddenly that he had never asked what Asheani wanted. “I… don’t know,” he admitted, feeling ashamed.

“Maybe if you ask her, then you won’t have to worry anymore,” Cole suggested eagerly.

“I should do that,” Aldaron agreed. He probably should have asked her from the start, instead of making assumptions. But for all his desire to help people and do good in the world, Aldaron was ultimately selfish. He wanted all the people he cared about to stay close to him because he didn’t know how to function alone. He had lost one community and found another, but his new family was already drifting apart just as he had feared. Blackwall gone a month ago with the Wardens, Leliana off to Val Royeaux in a matter of days, Varric planning his return to Kirkwall. How long before the rest of them wandered off as well?

This morning he’d thought the day was going to be good, happy, but so far it had just turned out to be awkward and miserable. Hopefully dinner would not be, although that was exactly what Aldaron expected at this point.

Aldaron shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts. He needed to do something to get his mind off of all these worries. To keep from spiraling into a depression because of things he couldn’t control. “Cole,” he said, swinging his legs back down onto the battlement and standing up, “Would you like to spar with me?”

The boy turned his head up toward the elf, still sitting on the balustrade. He seemed to ponder the offer for a moment and then nodded. “Yes,” he said, hopping to his feet. “That would be fun.”

 

* * *

  
When the Inquisitor sparred with any of his usual traveling companions it tended to draw attention. In part because it was a fairly rare occurrence and in part because they seemed to be the only ones who could keep up with him. Perhaps because there was little else happening in Skyhold today his and Cole’s display had drawn a fair crowd. The pair of assassins had similar fighting styles, as expected, but were also very different. Aldaron’s skills had been honed in open war, against opponents frequently twice his size and in twice as much armor. His attacks were hard and fast to make up for the difference, aimed at vital points to end the fight quickly. But Cole had a patience that the Inquisitor lacked, waiting for the opportune moment to strike rather than throwing himself headfirst into battle, and more than able to keep up with Aldaron’s speed.

For Aldaron, it was a very welcome change of pace. A different challenge than he was used to.

They had been at it for over an hour now with blunted daggers, short bursts of action between bouts of wary circling as each searched for an opening or tried to catch the other off guard. Aldaron was breathing heavily, the top few buttons of his shirt undone and hair clinging to the sweat on his brow. There were grass stains on his knees and he probably should have changed out of his nicer clothes for this, but it was too late to worry about that now.

“They’re watching,” Cole said suddenly, voice low enough that only Aldaron would hear.

There were a lot of people watching. A group of soldiers stopped their own training early on to observe, then every passing servant or messenger lingered a bit too long before going about their work. “I noticed,” Aldaron replied.

“No,” the boy replied, and nodded toward something behind Aldaron.

The elf hesitated, fearful that this was a trick to get him to lower his guard. But Cole would never sink to such dirty tactics, so he eventually turned to look over his shoulder. There in the small crowd stood Sera and Asheani. His sister held a half-eaten cookie in one hand and was staring with wide eyes and mouth agape.

“We should stop,” Cole said, “You’re tired.”

That wasn’t entirely true, Aldaron was winded but he could have continued for a while yet. However, it was a good excuse to end their practice. “Alright,” he agreed, allowing himself to relax as he turned back to Cole. “Thank you. This was fun.”

“It was,” Cole agreed. He didn’t look half as tired as Aldaron felt. It wasn’t fair.

Aldaron shifted his practice daggers to one hand and used the other to wipe the sweat from his forehead, pushing his hair back off his face though it fell back into his eyes again almost immediately. “Come on, you can meet my sister,” he offered, and headed over to her as the crowd began to disperse.

 As he approached Sera smiled around a mouthful of cookie. “Good show, Inky,” she said before swallowing. “Very stabby. Him, too, I guess,” she added begrudgingly, gesturing toward Cole.

“Thanks,” Aldaron replied. His gaze then fell to the basket in her hand, or more specifically to its contents. “You made cookies without me?”

“What, I gotta invite you every time?” Sera asked, and scoffed. “No time to go find where you’d wandered off to. You know she’s never had cookies before? You lot don’t make that shite out in the woods?”

“There’s no sugar out in the woods,” Aldaron informed her. “Do you like them?” he asked the younger girl.

“They’re amazing,” Asheani breathed, and Aldaron couldn’t help smiling. He’d had a similar reaction upon his first exposure to _shemlen_ baking. Dorian still teased him about having what the mage claimed was a childish infatuation with sweets. “Do you want some, too? We made too many.”

“There’s no such thing as too many cookies,” Aldaron said honestly as he plucked one out of the basket.

“What about the time you ate so many cakes they made you sick?” Cole suddenly piped up.

The question, asked innocently enough, sent Sera into a fit of cackling laughter. “What, that really happened? I thought Varric was having me on!”

Aldaron felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment. “That was one time,” he mumbled, and shoved the entire cookie in his mouth in an attempt to avoid the conversation. It didn’t work very well. Mostly it just made him cough as he tried to eat and breath at the same time.

Thankfully, Cole quickly changed the subject by turning to Asheani with a faint smile. “Hello, I’m Cole,” he introduced himself.

Predictably, Asheani shied back as soon as his attention was on her. “Hello,” she replied meekly.

The smile immediately faded from Cole’s face. “You’re scared of me,” he observed. It was obvious even if you couldn’t read minds. “But you don’t need to be. I’m only mostly human. Oh…” he paused as though suddenly realizing something, “I suppose that means I’m mostly scary.”

“Yeah, don’t think that’s making it any better, Creepy,” Sera commented.

“I’m sorry,” Cole said, “I want to help, but right now I’m part of the hurt. I don’t know how to fix that.”

“It’s alright, Cole,” Aldaron interjected after finally managing to swallow. “Maybe some other time.” He had also hoped that Asheani might warm up to Cole, but he wasn’t surprised by her reaction. She had very good reason to be wary of humans, they had been a threat to the clan even before the Breach and this past year had only been worse. He only hoped she would learn to trust some of the people here at Skyhold, at least. If not, then surely she would want to leave.

Cole seemed disappointed, but he said goodbye and left the three elves alone, taking Aldaron’s practice daggers with him to put away. Asheani watched until he disappeared into the armory, and then turned her attention back to her brother. “I didn’t know you could fight like that.”

The comment surprised Aldaron, until he remembered that Asheani had never really seen him fight, and he certainly hadn’t been nearly as skilled when he left the clan. “I’ve had a lot of time to practice,” he shrugged.

“And killed a lotta demons,” Sera added. “And dragons. We should do that again sometime. That was fun.”

Aldaron wasn’t so sure about that. If the dragons weren’t bothering anyone he preferred to leave them be. “Varric told me about the dragon,” Asheani piped up.

“Varric wasn’t even there,” Sera scoffed. “You should tell her ‘bout it,” she pointed to Aldaron. And she was right, of course. His conversation with Cole had made Aldaron realize that. He’d been so worried about whether or not Asheani would like it here and want to stay in Skyhold with him that he hadn’t actually spent any time talking to her about what happened. About what either of them had been through. He had been trying to impress her, and that wasn’t what either of them needed right now. “Anyway,” Sera continued before Aldaron could manage a response, “I got things to do. You can keep the clothes, I guess, if you want,” she said to Asheani before taking a handful of cookies from the basket and shoving it into Aldaron’s arms. “Don’t make yourself puke this time.” Again Aldaron flushed in embarrassment even though he willingly accepted the cookies.

“Thank you,” Asheani said, and much to Aldaron’s surprise she was actually smiling as she looked up at Sera. “I had fun today.”

“Aww, me too,” Sera grinned back. “You’re not so bad, for an elf.” Then she waved and ran off back to the tavern.

“For an elf?” Asheani asked in confusion.

“Sera doesn’t really think of herself as an elf,” Aldaron explained. “It’s complicated.”

Asheani still looked confused, and honestly Aldaron had been confused about Sera when he first met her as well. “Everything here is complicated,” she grumbled softly. “But she’s nice. I like her.”

“Good,” Aldaron smiled. He was glad to see her making friends and learning that the people here were good, not at all like the people who had torn her life apart. “I told you the people here were nice.”

“You did,” Asheani admitted, but that was all she said. Not yet willing to admit that he had been right, Aldaron presumed. That was fine. She seemed happy right now, and that was good enough for him.

“Have another cookie,” he offered, holding the basket out to her. There were about a dozen left, which made him wonder how many they had made. Of course, Sera did sometimes get a bit carried away when baking. After a brief moment of hesitation Asheani reached out and grabbed another cookie. “What do you want to do with the rest of them?” he asked. It was too many for the two of them to eat alone. He didn’t want his sister to repeat the mistake that he would apparently never live down.

“We should give some to Mithran,” Asheani suggested immediately. “He’s never had them before, either.”

“That’s a great idea,” Aldaron agreed, and immediately began heading back toward the keep. “If we can tear him away from the smithy long enough to eat.”

 

* * *

  
They left the last of the cookies in the undercroft with Mithran, Dagna, and Harrit, though Aldaron expected Dagna would eat most of them, then headed up the many flights of stairs to the Inquisitor’s quarters. Aldaron needed to change clothes and clean up a bit before dinner, and somehow the entire afternoon had already passed them by.

But as he reached the top of the stairs Aldaron was surprised to find that the room was not empty. The fire was lit and on the sofa Dorian was lounging with a book in hand, seemingly engrossed in its content.

“Dorian?” Aldaron asked in surprise, startling the man into sitting up and glancing over at them. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d still be in the library.” Though from the looks of things he had brought half the library with him. There was a stack of books on the small table beside the sofa.

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” Dorian replied, carefully marking his place in the book. “I would be, but Leliana’s birds were being particularly annoying today. It’s like they can sense her imminent departure, and they’re clearly unhappy about it.” He rose to his feet, finally turned to face them and his eyes went wide when he saw the state that Aldaron was in, clothes covered in dirt and grass stains. “How you manage to make such a mess of yourself so quickly positively boggles the mind. What have you been up to?” he asked in surprise.

Aldaron chuckled sheepishly. “I sparred with Cole a bit,” he replied.

“Ah, that certainly explains it,” Dorian agreed. “Showing off for little sister?” he asked, looking over Aldaron’s shoulder at Asheani and offering her his most charming smile. The one that never failed to make Aldaron’s heart flutter. However, it appeared to have no effect whatsoever on Asheani. “He is very good, isn’t he?”

Aldaron blushed under the praise. Dorian didn’t usually compliment his fighting. Usually he was too busy complaining about Aldaron being too reckless, putting himself in danger, getting himself covered in dirt and blood.

“He is,” Asheani agreed quietly, and it only made Aldaron blush more.

“I should go clean up,” he interrupted. “I probably smell.”

“You’ve smelled worse,” Dorian was more than happy to inform him.

Aldaron was certain that he had; he’d bathed the day before and only sparred for a little over an hour. Compared to normal he had been practically lethargic the past two days. And Dorian was, of course, intimately familiar with how filthy he got after weeks on the road. Still, Aldaron punched him lightly in the arm before brushing past the man on his way to the wardrobe.

“Ah! You savage,” Dorian bemoaned melodramatically, “Such violence. And in front of impressionable children, even.”

Aldaron ignored him. He was familiar with Dorian’s dramatics and knew the man didn’t mean what he said. Unfortunately, his sister was not familiar with Dorian’s sarcasm. “I’m not a child!” Asheani snapped, suddenly fierce, startling both Aldaron and Dorian with her outburst. “And he’s not a savage!”

“No, I…” Dorian stammered for a moment before regaining his composure. “You’re right,” he agreed calmly, “I apologize.”

“Dorian didn’t mean anything,” Aldaron found himself quickly jumping to the man’s defense. “He was just teasing.”

“It’s not funny,” Asheani protested vehemently.

Aldaron was distressed by how quickly Asheani had jumped to attack Dorian. He couldn’t understand why she hated him so much. Dorian hadn’t done anything wrong except perhaps tell a few jokes that she didn’t like. And she had promised him twice now that she would at least try and get along. “Asheani, you promised to be nice this time.”

“But he’s being mean to you,” the girl protested.

“No he’s not,” Aldaron argued back. Embarrassing though it was to admit, he liked Dorian’s teasing. Asheani was the one being mean right now, jumping down his throat for no reason. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Perhaps it would be best if I just leave,” Dorian suggested in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

“You should,” Asheani agreed.

“No,” Aldaron protested, “He has every right to be here.” Dorian lived here, after all.

“Amatus, it’s alright,” Dorian said gently.

“It’s not alright!” Aldaron exploded, rounding on them. And why was he so upset? It shouldn’t matter so much, but it did. The two people he cared about most, and they couldn’t be in the same room without starting a fight. So far Dorian was taking it all in stride, but how long until he got tired of being polite? And why did Asheani only have a problem with him? She hadn’t gotten angry at anyone else she had met so far; only Dorian. The only person he actually wanted her to get along with. “Why can’t you even try to get along? You’re my family.” Aldaron felt himself begin to choke up. Fear he wasn’t even aware of welling up inside him. Why don’t you approve of my choices? Why am I still not good enough? Questions that were not his sister’s to answer, but she was the only one left. “You’re supposed to get along.”

His family was alive, even just a small part of it. Someone who was supposed to understand him the way no one but a clan mate could. Everything was supposed to be better now, happier. So why did he actually feel lonelier than before? “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said miserably, then turned and fled out onto the balcony, slamming the door behind him.


	5. Stubborn Little Bird

The balcony door slammed with enough force to make Dorian wince from across the room (and worry briefly about the structural integrity of the glass). The urge to run after him was strong, but he pushed it down. Aldaron needed a moment to compose himself before he would accept any kind of comfort. He never liked letting anyone see him cry, and probably didn’t want to look weak in front of his sister. So Dorian hung back, but Asheani did not. The girl rushed forward only moments after the door shut. The movement startled Dorian, but he somehow managed to react fast enough to catch her arm and stop her from barging out onto the balcony. “Don’t,” he warned, trying to keep his voice even so as not to frighten her, “Leave him be.”

The expression on her face when she turned his way was halfway between terror and rage, eyes wide but full of a fire that Dorian recognized, so very similar to Aldaron when he got worked up. “Don’t touch me, _shem_!” she snapped, trying to tear her arm away from his grasp. But Dorian was stronger than she was, larger than she was, and he kept his hold. “Let go of me!”

“You don’t like me, I get it,” Dorian replied. He was used to being disliked. Or he had been, at least. But though so many people in the Inquisition had hated him at first, they had warmed to him in time, and more so after the war ended. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be hated on sight for no good reason. He didn’t miss it. “But believe me; if you go out there right now you’ll only make things worse.”

“Don’t tell me what to do! I’m not a child!”

“Then stop acting like one,” Dorian snapped, startling himself with how much he sounded like his father. When Asheani tried to pull her arm away again he released her immediately. The girl took two staggering steps back from him, but didn’t try to follow Aldaron again. So maybe she was capable of listening after all. “He doesn’t like people seeing him emotional,” Dorian told her.

Asheani frowned, “I’m not people, I’m his sister,” she complained.

She probably had a point. Maybe she had been the one Aldaron confided in before. Dorian had no idea what he had been like before the Inquisition, before all the pressure and responsibility, but he did know what Aldaron was like now. “And you’re the reason he’s upset,” Dorian said sternly. The girl at least had enough sense to look ashamed when it was pointed out.

This was not Dorian’s strong suit. He did not know how to deal with children; especially angry, petulant children who hated him for unknown reasons. And there were so many possible reasons. Because he was human? Because he was a mage? Because he was Tevinter? Because he was in a relationship with her brother? Actually, he expected it was a combination of all three and possibly more. Well, the girl said she didn’t want to be treated like a child, so Dorian would not treat her like a child. He had been polite for Aldaron’s sake, and because he did actually want the girl to like him. (His own family hated him, but it was apparently too much to ask that his in-laws wouldn’t.) But if she wasn’t even going to try for Aldaron’s sake, then he saw no reason to return the favor.

“You don’t care for me, that much is obvious,” Dorian reiterated, crossing his arms as he stared down at the elven girl. “And I’m certain you have your reasons, and that they seem perfectly valid to you. I’m also certain that I’ve heard those reasons a hundred times before from a hundred other people. I’m quite used to being the pariah; it’s part of my charm. I don’t need you to like me.”

Asheani pouted stubbornly even as she cowered away from him. “Good. I don’t like you, and I don’t like this place, and I don’t like what you people have done to my brother.”

“Done to him?” Dorian asked, admittedly a little confused. “I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“He’s been different since I got here,” the girl protested. “This place changed him. You people changed him.”

“People change,” Dorian replied flatly, “That’s a part of life.” Aldaron had changed, certainly. When Dorian met him the elf had been nothing but nervous energy and fear and carefully walled off emotions. Some days he was still like that, but Aldaron had also grown more confident, more trusting.

The girl appeared to have no reply for this. She pursed her lips and glowered at the floor. Perhaps she didn’t enjoy being treated like an adult as much as she’d thought. The pouting was making it difficult to be hard on her, though. She looked far too much like her brother. Aldaron made the exact same face when forced to do something he didn’t like. And Dorian knew she had been through the sort things no child should ever have to face, but so had Aldaron. So had all of them. The past year hadn’t been easy on anyone.

But, come to think of it, how much did Asheani actually know about the war? She was a child, no matter how much she protested the fact. How much of the truth had made it to her? And how much had been sugar coated or omitted to protect her innocence?

“I’m not certain how much you know about the war, or how much you believe,” Dorian began diplomatically, “But here is the truth: Since this all began, your brother has fallen physically into the Fade not once but three times. He has been stabbed, blown up, had a mountain dropped on him, been thrown into the future, tormented by the most powerful fear demon I’ve ever heard of, slain two dragons and one of the magisters who started the Blights.” And the vast majority of it Dorian had witnessed first hand. The memories were still fresh in his mind, some of the wounds still raw. “So yes, perhaps he’s not the same person you remember,” Dorian concluded passionately. “He’s been through the sort of torment I wouldn’t wish on anyone. That he’s even survived is a miracle. I would be doubly shocked to think it hasn’t changed him at all.”

Somewhere in the middle of Dorian’s little speech Asheani had looked up from the floor to stare at him in shock and horror. So it seemed she hadn’t known much about the war at all. At least, not the details. It wasn’t pretty.  “I…” she opened her mouth to speak, but seemed at a loss for words for a long moment. “He… never said anything.”

Of course not. How very predictable. “No, he wouldn’t,” Dorian grumbled. Maker forbid the Inquisitor ever talk about his problems or show any sign of weakness, even to his family. “Well, now you know the short of it, so maybe you can be a trifle less selfish,” he accused, hypocritical though it probably was, “And if you’ll excuse me, I’d rather like to go see how he’s doing.” He didn’t give the girl time to reply before turning away from her. Let her stew in it for a while; think about her behavior.

Dorian opened the balcony door slowly so as not to startle Aldaron, whom he found sitting at the edge of the balcony, legs hanging over the side and leaning against the banister as he stared down at the garden. As he stepped outside the elf looked up and over his shoulder, tense for a moment, then relaxing when he saw Dorian. He still looked absolutely miserable, but his eyes were dry so it wasn’t quite as bad as Dorian had feared. “Are you alright?” the man asked as he crossed over to where Aldaron was sitting.

“She hates you,” the elf muttered, turning his gaze down to the bustling keep below them once more.

“And you’re more upset about it than I am,” Dorian observed.

“I thought…” Aldaron started, and then stopped himself, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. “I just wanted to have a real family again. Like before. I thought it would be easy. I’m such an idiot.”

Dorian sat down slowly at his lover’s side and leaned back against the railing. Both of the siblings were acting a bit like idiots, he thought, but didn’t dare say out loud. “Nothing is ever as easy as it sounds, is it?” he asked instead.

“No, it’s not,” Aldaron agreed quietly.

“I… had some words with your sister,” Dorian admitted after a moment of silence. “You might not be terribly happy with me.”

Aldaron looked over at him again, frowning slightly. “What did you do?”

“She said she doesn’t want to be treated like a child, so I didn’t treat her like a child,” Dorian began, a little bit defensive. “She seems to be angry that you’re not exactly the same as the last time she saw you and blames the Inquisition – or maybe me in particular – for changing you. So I told her everything you’ve been through – with no detail, mind you, I’m not completely heartless.”

“You told her?” Aldaron asked in mixed horror and anger.

“Only the facts,” Dorian insisted, “And I was terribly vague. I thought if she knew what you’ve been though, what we’ve all been through, she would be a bit more understanding.”

“You’re right, I’m not terribly happy with you,” Aldaron said, and then sighed, “But I should have told her from the start. She’s just been through so much. I didn’t want to make it worse. But I was so happy she’s alive, I convinced myself everything would be like when we were children. I want her to stay here with me, but I never bothered asking what she wants.”

Yes, they had definitely both been idiots. And now Dorian was stuck in the middle, somehow playing mediator. He hadn’t signed up for this; he had enough trouble from his own family. “You could ask her now,” Dorian suggested. “Provided she’s willing to hold a civil conversation while I’m in the room. Or I could leave, if you’d rather.” He didn’t particularly want to, but if that would make things go more smoothly then he was willing.

“No,” Aldaron shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to leave, you live here too.”

“Not officially,” Dorian commented. Oh, everyone in the keep was well aware of where he spent his nights, but he still had a room of his own. A room that had come in quite handy the night before. He could only imagine that this situation would be significantly worse if he had slept here last night.

Aldaron bit his lip and glanced over at Dorian. He almost looked shy, but that couldn’t be right. Aldaron had long since gotten over his shyness when they were alone. “You could,” he said quietly. “If you want. Move in here… permanently.”

Oh. 

Today was just full of surprises.

“Amatus, you almost sound as though you’re proposing,” Dorian commented flippantly to hide the sudden giddy feeling in his chest.

He watched as Aldaron blushed all the way up to the tips of his ears. “N-nothing that serious,” he stammered, turning his face away from Dorian. “But you live here already. Nothing would change, really. It just… Never mind, I’m being stupid again.” Aldaron pulled his legs back up onto the balcony and moved to get up, but Dorian stopped him quickly with a hand on his arm, pulling him back down.

“No, no, come back here,” the man said with a sigh, “You’re not stupid.” Reluctantly, Aldaron sat down again, though he watched Dorian nervously for his reaction. “You’re quite right, actually: very little would change.”

Aldaron’s eyes turned tentatively hopeful. “Is that a yes?”

“I suppose it is, yes,” Dorian replied, smiling softly. “But you’ll have to sort out this mess with your sister first. Clearly we can’t both live here with you.”

Aldaron sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to her again,” he grumbled.

“I really will leave if you think it will make things easier,” Dorian offered again, “Perhaps the birds will have quieted down by now.”

Aldaron shook his head. “No, I… She needs to know what happened. Cole said the same thing. I’ve been too wound up in making her want to stay here that we never actually talked about what happened. To either of us. She’s… She was there,” he said as though only just realizing it. “She escaped the attack but she must have seen…” Aldaron trailed off but Dorian knew what he was unable to say. The aftermath. Had Asheani seen the bodies? “Creators, she’s just a child,” he hung his head and fell silent.

Dorian wasn’t certain what to say. It was clear that Aldaron was upset, but Dorian didn’t know how to sooth this particular hurt. It sounded as though Cole hadn’t been terribly helpful, either, which was shocking. “I don’t think she’ll be terribly open as long as I’m here,” he commented.

“I know, but…” Aldaron murmured, “If I have to talk about everything that happened… I don’t want to do it alone.”

“You mean to tell her everything?” Dorian asked, concerned and surprised. “Actually everything?” Including all the parts that few people other than Dorian knew about? The nightmares, the sleepless nights, the panic attacks; everything Aldaron tried so hard to keep secret?

Aldaron nodded, “She’s my sister,” he said, as though that explained everything. Maybe it did, but Dorian had no idea what it was like to have a sibling. He had grown up with a series of nannies and tutors, had lessons in the Circle with children years older than him. He didn’t know what it was like to grow up with close friends. Or any friends, really. Perhaps Aldaron realized that, because he spoke up again, elaborating carefully. “We used to tell each other everything. Well, mostly everything,” he said. “Our parents were both hunters, so they were away a lot. I looked after her.”

That actually did explain quite a lot. “Well, if you want me to stay, I’ll stay, and if you want me to go, I’ll go,” Dorian offered. “And I won’t be offended. I know how difficult and awkward these sorts of family matters can be.”

“I want you to stay,” Aldaron said earnestly. Then he leaned over and kissed Dorian on the corner of his mouth. “You’re family, too.”

Dorian felt his face heat up. Aldaron spoke such sentiments so easily. Dorian hadn’t even been able to say ‘I love you’ until that morning, and afterward it felt like Aldaron had simply been waiting on him, with how easily his reply came. Maybe he had been. All that romantic sap was so natural to him. “The things you say,” Dorian mumbled with a shake of his head.

Aldaron just smiled, kissed him again, and climbed to his feet. He held his hands out to Dorian, and the man hesitated a moment before accepting and letting Aldaron help pull him to his feet.  He took a moment to straighten his clothes, and then followed Aldaron back into the room.

Across the room, Asheani was sitting on the sofa with her feet pulled up onto the cushions and her arms wrapped around he knees. She had been staring down at the carpet, but looked up as the door opened. “ _Isa’lin_ ,” she breathed, let her feet fall to the floor and stood up. Aldaron crossed the room slowly, but Dorian hung back, still uncertain how he would be received. The girl looked for a moment like she wanted to run over to her brother, but instead simply stood nervously beside the sofa. “I…” she hesitated, twisting her hands in front of herself. “I’m sorry for yelling,” she said quietly.

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” Aldaron replied.

The girl looked down again in shame. Dorian stepped forward slowly until he was standing beside Aldaron. He wasn’t nearly as bothered by all this, but he would appreciate an apology. Asheani wrung her hands, shifted from one foot to another, and then raised her head again, looking not at Dorian, but somewhere just above his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Dorian was mildly surprised that the words actually escaped her mouth. Maybe she wasn’t completely unreasonable after all. “Apology accepted,” he replied. Asheani’s eyes flicked to his face. She looked briefly confused, maybe a little surprised as well, and then she looked away from him again and the expression was gone.

“Asheani, I… We need to talk,” Aldaron blurted out, likely before he lost the nerve, but the way he said it sounded so ominous.

Judging by the way that she shied back hesitantly, the girl felt the same way. “Talk about what?” she asked.

“About everything,” Aldaron replied. “I realized we haven’t actually talked very much. Asheani… Do you actually want to stay here? In Skyhold, I mean.”

“I want to stay with you,” the girl answered without hesitation.

Aldaron seemed pleased to hear that, at least for a moment. “I have to stay here,” he said. “I want to stay here.”

“Why?” Asheani asked, pouting.

“Because I still have work to do,” Aldaron explained. “And because Skyhold is my home.”

“You actually like it here?” the girl asked.

“Most of the time,” Aldaron replied. “I didn’t like it at first, either, but it grows on you. I think you’d like it too, if you gave it a chance.”

“You say that about everything,” Asheani muttered.

Aldaron sighed. “I know,” he said, “And I know you think I’ve changed, and maybe I have but… It’s been well over a year since I left. So much has happened. I guess you don’t know much about it. I know most of the stories are exaggerated or wrong.”

Asheani nodded slowly. “Nobody would tell me anything,” she said quietly. “Only that you were off fighting the war; that you were important and you were going to save the world. _Mae_ talked about it a lot, how important you were. Are.”

“People certainly think I am,” Aldaron replied. “It was all rather an accident, really. It could have happened to anyone.” As he spoke Aldaron walked over to the sofa and sat down. Dorian bit back a complaint about the elf’s terrible modesty. He had saved the world, he could brag about it a little bit. Even he recognized that now wasn’t the time to rehash that old argument, however, so he merely followed Aldaron over to the sofa and sat down beside him. After a moment of hesitation Asheani joined them, sitting on her brother’s opposite side.

The sofa wasn’t actually big enough for three people, even if two of them were elves and therefore thin as rails, and the result left Aldaron wedge rather pleasantly against Dorian’s side. Unfortunately, due to present company the man couldn’t take advantage of the close seating arrangements. Not just because Asheani was a child, but because the slightest show of affection might infuriate her again. Dorian was afraid to even wrap an arm around Aldaron’s shoulders (which certainly would have been more comfortable). It was utterly ridiculous to be reduced to this state by a child.

“You already know why I left the clan,” Aldaron began carefully. His voice broke Dorian out of his thoughts, drew him back to the present. The elf had his full attention on Asheani, but then he stopped, frowned for a moment, and looked over at Dorian. “You don’t.”

It was true. Dorian didn’t know what circumstances had conspired so that Aldaron wound up at the conclave. The elf had never talked much about his life before the Inquisition. Of course he had been curious, but Aldaron never seemed comfortable talking about it so he didn’t pry. If he was going to talk bout it now, however, Dorian certainly wouldn’t stop him.

“You know I asked the Keeper to send me? Begged, more like,” Aldaron admitted with a wry smile. “Not my best decision, in hindsight.”

“Ah, but if you hadn’t, then you wouldn’t have met me,” Dorian pointed out cheerfully. Meeting Aldaron had made the past year far more bearable than it probably would have been otherwise, even if loving him was difficult at times.

The smile on Aldaron’s face turned genuine and soft. “I suppose that’s true,” he agreed. “I’d only just gotten my vallaslin and I wanted to do something to… prove my worth, I guess. I wanted to do something important.”

“Mission accomplished,” Dorian quipped, but was quickly silenced by a pointed look from his lover. “Sorry, continue.”

Aldaron sighed and was silent for a moment before he spoke up again. “It was supposed to be easy. The hardest part was supposed to be just getting there and back. Took me three days just to find a ship that would take a knife-ear across the Waking Sea. I think I paid too much, but I’d never really dealt with money before.” Dorian found it frighteningly easy to imagine Aldaron in some Free Marches port getting swindled by some sailor eager to take advantage of a naïve young elf. He was lucky getting swindled was the worst that had happened. “Then I was just supposed to listen. Everyone knew what the Conclave was for: it was supposed to end the war one way or another. I don’t think Keeper Istimaethoriel intended for me to break in, but I didn’t want to sit around in the snow listening to rumors. So I got into the temple through an open window. And then…” He stopped himself and swallowed heavily.

“Amatus…” Dorian interjected, concerned. Aldaron never talked about the explosion, even after his memories returned, and Dorian didn’t blame him. He was very glad to have been far away for that part. Somewhere on the road to Redcliffe, he remembered vividly. He had felt the tear in the veil – the sudden change in the air, the wrongness of it, the way his mana hiccupped and roiled like seasickness – before seeing the gaping hole in the distant sky.

“I’m alright,” Aldaron assured him quickly, offering a tiny smile and laying a hand on Dorian’s knee. “It’s just still a little fuzzy,” he admitted. Dorian nodded and fell silent, allowing him to continue at his own pace. He knew the story from here on out. “This is where it starts to get rather unpleasant.”

‘Rather unpleasant.’ Dorian almost scoffed. Aldaron was a master of understatement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but wanted to post something before I get sucked into NaNoWriMo and can't update. Yes, no updates during November. I'll be busy word vomiting another fic (the Liberati AU), but you can follow me on [tumblr](http://erandir.tumblr.com) or the [NaNo site](http://nanowrimo.org/participants/erandir) if you're interested in following that endeavor.


	6. Remorseful Little Bird

Aldaron talked for a long time. Asheani could do nothing but listen in mixed fascination and horror as he described the events that lead up to the formation of the Inquisition. At one point he began rubbing the palm of his left hand against his knee, flexing his fingers as though his hand itched. Wordlessly Dorian reached out and took hold of his hand, halting the fidgeting and holding it tightly between both of his.

It was obviously not easy for Aldaron to talk about. He stared at the floor or at the ceiling, occasionally his voice hitched and he had to stop for a moment. Then Dorian would squeeze his hand, nudge him gently or whisper something in his ear and after a deep breath Aldaron would continue.

He told her about seeing the future in Redcliffe, impossible as it sounded to Asheani, and about the attack that had destroyed Haven, turning the Inquisition temporarily homeless. He told her about the Champion of Kirkwall, about the Grey Wardens, about magisters and battles so large that Asheani couldn’t even imagine them. When he talked about the Fade he choked up, squeezed his eyes shut and clutched Dorian’s hand so hard it had to be painful, but the man merely grit his teeth and bore it, whispering into the shell of Aldaron’s ear when he had difficulty continuing.

Aldaron positively gushed about the ancient temple they found dedicated to Mythal. He lapsed into Elven trying to describe it, and then back into the Trade Tongue when he realized what he was doing. But when he told her what had happened there he wasn’t nearly so excited.

By the time he finished the sun had set. Aldaron looked tired and Dorian looked mildly concerned. Asheani wasn’t certain what to say. She got the feeling that there were still things Aldaron had left out, still things the he had made sound less dire or less horrible than they had been. Which was difficult to imagine, considering how horrible most of it had sounded.

She thought she understood now what everyone had been trying to say.

If everything in the past year had been nothing but pain and blood and fear it was no wonder that Aldaron was more solemn and serious than she remembered. It made Asheani’s own pain pale in comparison. She felt a bit selfish for complaining about her troubles when Aldaron’s had to be much worse.

“Was everything really so horrible all the time?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“Not everything,” Aldaron was trying to be reassuring, but he didn’t sound very sure of himself when he said it. “There was…” he frowned in concentration. “I mean… It wasn’t miserable all the time.”

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” Dorian breathed. Words that Asheani didn’t recognize or understand. “Amatus, are you quite serious?” he asked in exasperation. “I realize we’ve been talking about everything terrible and awful, but you really can’t think of one single good thing that happened all year?”

Aldaron looked over at him for a moment, “Are you talking about yourself?”

Dorian chuckled, “Not entirely,” he admitted, “Flattering though it is that you would think so, I’m not quite vain enough to think I’m the only good thing in your life. The most charming and well dressed, definitely, but that goes without saying.”

“Not vain, he says,” Aldaron muttered, lips pulling into a lopsided smile. “You’re right, though. I met lots of new friends; I saw lots of new places and helped lots of people. It’s… not a life I would have chosen, and I’m not necessarily glad that all of this happened, but I’m not angry about it, either. I’m happy now,” he assured the both of them, “Even after everything.”

“See?” Dorian replied happily, and he looked across Aldaron’s shoulders to offer Asheani a smile that she didn’t feel like returning. “So it can’t have been all bad.”

Asheani really wanted to dislike him as much as she had at first glance. She wanted to find some ulterior motive behind his kindness toward Aldaron. But Aldaron had that stupid look on his face again, and to her surprise it was mirrored on Dorian’s as well. She suddenly felt very much like she was intruding. Except that it wasn’t so sudden, she had felt like that the entire time she had been in Skyhold, just never quite as intensely as in this moment. This wasn’t her life. Aldaron had moved on. He didn’t need her anymore.

“Well,” Dorian’s voice interrupted her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. “If we’re all done with the heartfelt conversations and sharing our feelings, shall we go see if we’ve missed dinner?”

“Ah!” At the mention of dinner Aldaron’s eyes went wide and he sat up straighter. “I forgot! I told Mithran that we would all have dinner together,” he exclaimed, and leapt to his feet. “It’s so late! I can’t believe I forgot. What if he’s angry?”

“Calm down, calm down,” Dorian stood up as well and reached out to lay a hand on Aldaron’s shoulder. “He’s hardly some Orlesian noble who will send assassins after you for being stood up,” he reasoned. “I assume,” he added, with a glance to Asheani for confirmation, “We haven’t actually been introduced.”

“He won’t be angry,” Asheani confirmed, nodding. She had never known Mithran to be angry about anything other than bad craftsmanship. “He knows you’re busy.”

“But I promised,” Aldaron bemoaned. “I don’t want him to think I’m like that.”

“Hasn’t this person known you for your entire life?” Dorian asked. “I hardly think one missed dinner is going to drastically impact his opinion of you.”

“I haven’t seen him for over a year,” Aldaron protested. “I need to go apologize. I still need to change,” he groaned and pulled away from Dorian to go do just that.

Dorian let him go and threw his hands up in the air in annoyance as Aldaron disappeared into the side room to change. He scoffed and then looked down at Asheani, still sitting on the sofa. “Has he always been this neurotic, or is it a more recent development?”

Asheani stared up at him, a little bit intimidated but mostly uncertain what he was asking. Was he insulting Aldaron while her brother wasn’t around to hear it? “Neurotic?” she asked hesitantly.

The man rolled his eyes, “You know,” he said vaguely, “Anxious. Always worried that something will go wrong, that he’ll mess up and suddenly everyone will hate him.”

Asheani never would have described Aldaron as anxious or afraid before today. She had only ever thought of her brother as brave and outspoken and confident, if a little rash at times. But his behavior also wasn’t all that surprising to her. “He was always trying to impress someone,” the girl recalled. “And he got really upset when he messed up.” What Asheani found most surprising was that Aldaron was trying to impress Mithran, a craftsman, when in the past Aldaron had only tripped over himself trying to impress hunters – their parents included.

“That second part definitely sounds right,” Dorian mused thoughtfully. He stared at the door behind which Aldaron had disappeared for a moment, and then turned to her again. “You seem less keen on murdering me now,” he observed, “Has your opinion of me improved over the past few hours, or have you just finally decided to play nice for Aldaron’s sake?”

Asheani didn’t actually want to answer that question. To be honest, it was probably a little of both. This was the first time she had really been able to watch the man interact with her brother. When Aldaron was upset Dorian had comforted him, not made fun of him like Asheani had expected. Never once had the man tried to talk over Aldaron or correct him. He had been quiet and supportive. She also understood better now what her brother had been through during the war. Or understood as best she would ever be able to, she expected. So many of the things Aldaron had described - demons, the Fade, darkspawn, magic – she had no true comprehension of, nor experiences of her own with which to compare. Maybe that part of his life would always be a bit of a mystery to her. But she was beginning to understand why he wasn’t the same brother that she remembered. He had had to change – to grow – in order to do what needed to be done; to save the world.

“I think,” she began hesitantly, stubbornly. Some part of her still wanted to hate Dorian. Some part of her still wanted to hate Skyhold and the Inquisition. But it wasn’t really their fault. It wasn’t their fault that her family and her home were gone. It wasn’t their fault that Aldaron had changed. Perhaps they had all had a hand in it, and it was so very difficult not to blame the Inquisition for the loss of her family, but they weren’t the only ones influencing Aldaron’s life. They weren’t the real bad guys. “I think,” she began again, “Maybe you’re not as bad as I thought.”

“Oh-ho,” Dorian smiled smugly, “That’s high praise, I think, coming from you. What was it that finally won you over: my charming personality or my incredible good looks?”

On second thought, maybe she still didn’t like him. He had been so nice when Aldaron was upset, but now he was that same egotistical jerk that she had immediately disliked at breakfast. “I still don’t know why Al likes you, though,” she muttered defiantly. Maybe he wasn’t all bad, but she still didn’t see why Aldaron kept mooning over him.

“Can’t you?” Dorian asked, “But there’s so much about me to like. I suppose it’s good, actually, that you don’t like me as much as he does. That would be terribly awkward for everyone involved. I wouldn’t blame you for being jealous, however.”

Jealous? Of what? The idea was completely ridiculous. “I’m not jealous!” Asheani protested angrily. What did she have to be jealous of except that Aldaron was now paying more attention to this man than he ever had to her?

“Are you two fighting again?” as though on cue, Aldaron’s voice interrupted them. Asheani hadn’t heard the door open, but he was standing there in the doorway doing up the last few buttons on his shirt. His face was lined with concern as he looked back and forth between them.

“Not at all,” Dorian replied quickly. That self-important smile was still firmly in place. “We’re getting along swimmingly.”

Aldaron looked like he didn’t entirely believe that, but he didn’t say anything further. “We should go, then, before all the food’s gone. You must be starving.”

“Not really,” Asheani assured, so that he wouldn’t worry any more. She was a little hungry, but it was late and she was used to being hungry. “I ate a lot of cookies,” she admitted.

“Not too many, I hope,” Dorian said with a knowing smile.

“Don’t,” Aldaron warned him as he began heading for the door.

“Don’t what?” Dorian asked, his voice dripping with false innocence. “I was thinking your sister and I might bond over embarrassing stories from your youth. Like the time you ate so many petit fours you made yourself ill.”

Aldaron’s face turned red just like it had that afternoon, but he pursed his lips and kept walking. Asheani immediately hopped up from the sofa and hurried after him. “She already knows that one,” Aldaron muttered, “Cole told her.”

“What?” Dorian exclaimed, following after them as well, “Oh, and that’s the best one,” he bemoaned, “But surely Asheani, who saw you through all your painful youth, has something to top that.”

Asheani could practically feel the man’s eyes boring into her back as they descended the first flight of stairs out of Aldaron’s room. Aldaron had certainly done a number of embarrassing things when they were children. So had she, and she worried he might decide to tell those if she started. Then again, this was definitely more fun to think about than all the horrible things that had happened while they were apart. She glanced back over her shoulder at Dorian and the man flashed her an encouraging grin. “When Al was first learning how to use a bow – I don’t remember this, I was too little, but I know the story – he once missed the target so badly that he hit a wasps’ nest. He got stung nine times. _Mamae_ , too.”

“Sweet Maker,” Dorian breathed, and then chuckled softly, “No wonder he won’t use one anymore.”

“That’s not even why he stopped. He actually --.”

“No, no, you’ll have to save it for the next round, those are the rules,” Dorian interrupted.

“Rules?” Asheani looked back over her shoulder at him again. She had no idea what he was talking about.

“Yes,” Dorian nodded, “I tell an embarrassing story about Aldaron, and then you tell one, and then I tell one, and then you, and so on and so forth until either we run out or your brother murders the both of us.”

Ahead of them Aldaron groaned. “I don’t remember anymore why I wanted the two of you to be friends,” he grumbled.

“Because you’re a giant sap,” Dorian informed him, “But don’t worry, we won’t hold it against you. Anyway it’s my turn. Aldaron got spectacularly drunk at the Winter Palace – after all the backstabbing and politics was over, of course – and then every time he saw an elven servant spent several minutes apologizing profusely for all the blood on the marble.”

“Briala said it would take months to clean!” Aldaron shouted in his own defense.

“He’s still upset about it!” Dorian laughed. “Amatus, they have cleaned it up by now.”

“I know that,” Aldaron complained, “When do I get to tell embarrassing stories about you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve never done anything embarrassing in my life,” Dorian scoffed.

They had reached the bottom of the tower now and Aldaron stopped, turning around and fixing Dorian with a look that Asheani was more used to seeing on their mother’s face. “Really?” he asked.

“Really,” Dorian replied confidently, stepping past Asheani where she had stopped on the lowest step.

“Then you must not remember when we were in the Emerald Graves. You tripped over a root and fell face first into the river,” Aldaron reminded him, complete with a hand motion to illustrate the fall, “And you had to go the rest of the day in those clothes. You should ask Varric about it,” he looked past Dorian at Asheani, and he was smiling. The first real smile since their fight earlier. One of very few she had seen since arriving.

“You should definitely not ask Varric about it,” Dorian protested, “He will blow the thing completely out of proportion.”

“You wanted to go back to camp to change,” Aldaron said pointedly, but with an amused smile on his face.

“Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to go around in sopping wet clothes?” Dorian asked. “Not to mention completely undignified.”

“It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, you dried out quickly,” Aldaron brushed it off with a short laugh and turned around once more.

Before following him, Dorian turned to Asheani again and offered her a smug smile and a wink. Then he turned on his heel and caught up with Aldaron in a few quick steps. For a split second Asheani was too startled to move, because she suddenly realized that Aldaron’s rapid shift in mood was entirely due to Dorian’s teasing. And that had been Dorian’s plan all along. And it had worked on Asheani, too, even without her realizing it. Had that also been part of his plan?

Asheani had to run to catch up with them before they entered the main hall.

 

* * *

  
As it turned out, Aldaron’s worry was for naught. Mithran was exactly where the siblings had left him earlier that day: in the undercroft.

“We lost track of time,” the dwarven smith (Aldaron had introduced her with some fancy title that Asheani couldn’t remember) said as an excuse when asked. Considering the room was missing one wall entirely Asheani found it difficult to believe. “Mithran’s been telling me all about Dalish crafting techniques. It’s fascinating.”

“She hasn’t been bothering you too much, has she?” Aldaron asked Mithran, his brow knitted in concern.

“Not at all,” Mithran assured. “I don’t mind sharing what I know, and she’s certainly the most eager student I’ve ever had.”

“Of course I am,” the dwarf replied cheerfully (what was her name again? Asheani had met so many people that day it was hard to keep them straight), “You don’t often get an opportunity like this. Your people are usually very tight lipped about their ways. Oh, no offense, of course.”

“None taken,” Mithran assured her. “But perhaps we should call it a night.”

“You’re probably right, I don’t want to fall asleep at the forge again,” the dwarf laughed sheepishly. “I’d be happy to pick up in the morning if you’re still interested,” she said to Mithran. “Oh, and Inquisitor, I’ll be sure to give you a full report of everything I learn. I’ve already got a few ideas about how we can improve the weight distribution in some weapons and armor.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Aldaron held up his hands in a weak defense. “I trust your judgment.”

“Oh… Well, if you change your mind let me know,” the dwarf – Dagna! That was her name – replied cheerfully, “I’ve just got to tidy up in here, you lot go on. Don’t miss dinner on my account.”

They bid Dagna a quick farewell and headed up the steps back toward the main hall. “Finally,” Dorian sighed just before they reached the door, “I’m absolutely famished.”

“We haven’t been introduced,” Mithran commented, looking sideways as the mage.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Aldaron immediately jumped in, “Mithran, this is Dorian Pavus. He’s my… We’re…,” he cut himself off, stammering awkwardly and cheeks turning red as he glanced over at the man by his side, “That is… um…"

Dorian sighed, “Depending on who you ask we’re either madly in love or I’m attempting to steal his soul,” the man supplied cheerfully. “Recent sentiment seems to be skewing toward the former.”

Asheani watched Mithran’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline as he looked between the two. Aldaron’s ears had gone red now as well, though Dorian still looked completely unfazed. “It’s true then?” Mithran asked, dropping into Elvhen as he spoke to Aldaron, “I had heard rumors on the road, but did not think them true.”

“It’s true,” Aldaron confirmed, also falling into their mother tongue. His cheeks were still red, but he frowned, “Is that a problem?”

Mithran glanced over at Dorian, who was frowning now as well as he watched the elves. “I don’t believe your parents would approve.”

Aldaron’s shoulders slumped, and even Asheani was shocked that he would bring their parents into this. “I…” he began weakly, and then seemed to find his strength again as he squared himself up and shot back, “You don’t know that. You’ve barely met him.”

“I’ve heard rumors,” Mithran argued.

Asheani instinctively took a step back, expecting another fight. Just like the one she’d instigated that morning, something she was not ashamed of. Aldaron had been right back then. She still wasn’t certain whether she liked him or not, but Dorian wasn’t so bad. He was annoying, but he did seem to actually care about Aldaron.

“The rumors are wrong,” Aldaron argued back in stubborn exasperation.

“You know,” Dorian interrupted, “It’s terribly rude to talk about someone as though they aren’t in the room. More so to do it in a language they can’t understand. If you have something to say to me, please say it to my face.”

Mithran turned toward the man and met Dorian’s glare with one of his own. “What are your intentions concerning Aldaron?” he asked sternly.

“Nothing but good, I assure you,” Dorian replied, “Although I’m not certain it’s any of your business one way or the other.”

“Aldaron is my kinsman,” Mithran argued, “His wellbeing is my business.”

“Is that why you have been locked away in here all day instead of spending time with him?” Dorian accused, “Tinkering around in here is apparently more important to you than his wellbeing.”

“How dare you,” Mithran seethed, and looked about to say more before Dorian cut him off again.

“You’re not the first person to be concerned for his wellbeing but unwilling to do anything except spread rumors and gossip,” Dorian continued, arms crossed over his chest and staring down his nose at the craftsman.

At Asheani’s side Aldaron was growing more anxious by the second. He was wringing his hands in front of himself, and when she glanced up at him his face was twisted in concern, glancing back and forth between the two as though uncertain how to step in. Neither Mithran nor Dorian seemed aware of this at all as they continued bickering.

“Stop fighting!” Asheani shouted, startling herself somewhat with the force of the outburst. “You’re just making everything worse!” Was this what Aldaron had felt like when she and Dorian were fighting? No wonder he was so upset. She did succeed in breaking up the argument, though, startling both the men enough to make them look over at her, and at Aldaron, who was struggling to compose himself.

“Amatus, I’m sorry,” Dorian said as soon as he saw the distress on Aldaron’s face, “Are you alright?”

Aldaron nodded slowly, “I’m tired of all this fighting,” he mumbled. “I’m tired of people trusting rumors more than they trust me,” he said with a pointed look toward Mithran. “And he’s right. I appreciate your concern, but it’s not your business. I’m a grown man, I can make my own decisions about who I trust… And who I love.”

For a moment Mithran merely stared at him, and then the older elf’s face softened. “You’re right, I apologize. To you as well,” he added with a curt nod to Dorian. “I shouldn’t have put so much stock in the rumors. And perhaps I should have spent more time with you today, learning about your new life. Only I thought I might be of more use to you here. I… Do not intend to stay here with your Inquisition.”

“I thought so,” Aldaron replied solemnly. Asheani had, too, but she was still upset to hear it confirmed. She had always looked up to Mithran, and the two had grown close during their many weeks on the road to Skyhold. But she had always expected him to go find a new clan. If not for her, he probably wouldn’t have come here in the first place. “I know a clan in the Dales that would accept you. I can have some of our scouts take you to them… If you want. But you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” Mithran replied. “I’ll stay for a few days more, at least. This is a very nice place your people have made, it’s just not the life for me. I’m too old for such a drastic change.”

“I understand,” Aldaron nodded, but he was notably more solemn than he had been before. Asheani was, too. Mithran had been the last piece of her old life after it was all ripped away. She had Aldaron now, she wanted to stay with him, but Skyhold was still a bit intimidating; too many stone walls and too many people. Aldaron had offered her the options to stay or go, but she still wasn’t entirely certain what she wanted. She glanced over at Dorian, hoping for another miraculous ploy to improve the mood, but the man was staring at Aldaron, his expression unreadable.

“But we can talk about that more tomorrow,” Mithran assured, “We should go get something to eat before they run out.”

“Don’t worry, they’re used to the Inquisitor forgetting to come to meals,” Dorian assured, “They’ll have saved something for us.”

“It doesn’t happen that often,” Aldaron sighed, and pulled open the door to the main hall, “Besides, it’s not that late yet.”

It was actually fairly late by Asheani’s estimate, but as they stepped back into the hall she saw there was still a smattering of people at the tables, bunched together in pairs or small groups. The kitchen staff were starting to take away empty platters, but there was still food laid out on the two long tables at the side of the hall. They settled themselves around the end of one such table and despite all the fighting and misunderstandings of the day the meal was not nearly as awkward as Asheani had expected. With their differences put aside Dorian and Mithran seemed to get on well. Dorian kept prodding for more stories about Aldaron’s youth, which of course lead to embarrassing tales from Asheani’s past as well. By the time Mithran excused himself to go to bed Aldaron was more relaxed than Asheani had seen him for most of the day, leaning his elbows on the table and laughing easily at shared memories.

“You must be tired, too,” Aldaron commented to her after Mithran left.

“I’m not,” Asheani denied, though she had been stifling yawns for some time now.

“Go ahead upstairs,” Aldaron nodded toward the door would take her up to his rooms. “I’ll follow you in a minute; I need to talk to Dorian about something.”

More likely they were going to kiss, Asheani thought, but she didn’t want to see that anyway. Maybe Dorian was alright, but that didn’t mean she wanted to think about her brother doing those sorts of things. “Alright,” she agreed. She was tired, it had been a very long day, and if Aldaron and Dorian were going to stay up late being lovey-dovey then she would rather be asleep. Standing up from the table, she hesitated a moment before opening her mouth again, “I’m sorry I yelled at you so much,” she said to Dorian. Because she realized now that she had been wrong to judge him before getting to know him. “You’re not that bad. Goodnight.” And then she practically ran from the hall without waiting for a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was off doing NaNoWriMo this fic hit 1000 views! That's awesome, so thanks everyone who is still reading and enjoying this fic! (DDSH hit 10,000 views a little while ago also, which is astounding!)


	7. Homesick Little Bird

If it was difficult for Aldaron to fall asleep most nights, it was infinitely more difficult with his younger sister lying sound asleep beside him. Although his night terrors were becoming less and less frequent, he worried about having one with her so close.

She knew now everything that had happened during the war, and she knew that parts of it haunted him still, but she did not know to what extent. Hopefully she never would. For her entire life Aldaron had wanted nothing more than to protect his baby sister from anything that might try to hurt her. It was a task their parents had set to him, entrusting him with her care while they were away hunting for the clan. Him freshly eight years old and her a toddling not-yet-two. And like any responsibility that had ever been handed to him, Aldaron had taken it to heart.

They were never without their parents for more than a few days at a time, but a lot can happen in a day or two. There were times when he had failed, when she had been hurt or upset and he, a child himself, could do nothing but run to an adult for help. And there were times when Aldaron himself had been the cause of her pain. A young apprentice hunter eager to prove his worth didn’t want a child clinging at his shirttails all the time.

Worst of all, he had failed to shield her from the harsh realities of war. The loss of her family, her friends, her home.

Now he had to protect her from himself, and that was proving hardest of all.

After dozing off and then jolting himself anxiously awake three times Aldaron gave up the pretext of even trying to sleep and climbed carefully out of bed. He made his way over to the desk in the corner, but there wasn’t much paperwork coming across it these days. Nothing at all today, apparently, which, unfortunately, meant there was nothing obvious Aldaron could use to pass the time.

Before becoming Inquisitor Aldaron had barely been literate. There wasn’t much use or need for reading and writing out in the wilderness where his clan spent most of their time, but his parents had ensured that both he and Asheani learned their letters. He had improved immeasurably since then, but still struggled over long or unfamiliar words, or anything Orlesian. So he still was not overly fond of reading. But on his desk sat a book, a gift he had received several days ago, though from whom he couldn’t remember – a ‘thank you for saving the world’ present. It was a book about the original Inquisition, something which Aldaron knew sadly little about.

On a night like this, when his anxious mind wouldn’t let him rest, he often asked Dorian to read to him. The man’s steady voice made books infinitely more enjoyable, even when he was reading magical theory that Aldaron couldn’t even understand. It also gave him something to focus on, to keep his mind from running in circles, as it was doing right now. If Dorian were here now maybe Aldaron would have asked him to read this book, but Dorian wasn’t here. Would it work the same if he was reading to himself? Was reading more enjoyable than he remembered when it wasn’t all scouting reports and troop movements and politics? Well, it was worth a try. Lying in bed staring at the ceiling wasn’t getting him anywhere.

Aldaron picked up the book and walked back over to the bed, stealing a pillow and a spare blanket before settling himself on the floor in front of the fire. He made himself comfortable, laid out on his stomach with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders to keep off the nighttime chill, and opened up the book on the floor before him to begin reading.

At some point he must have drifted off, because he was suddenly aware of being awoken by a small hand nudging his shoulder and a concerned voice whispering his name. “Al? Al, wake up.”

Aldaron came awake all of a sudden, but it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the moonlight that lit the room enough to clearly see the small figure crouched beside him. “Asheani?” The girl’s eyes were wide and scared. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Asheani hesitated, looked down at the floor, “I had a nightmare. Then I woke up and you weren’t there…”

Aldaron knew that feeling all too well. Slowly he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. It should have occurred to him that she would be frightened if she woke up and he was gone. “I couldn’t sleep. Are you alright?” Asheani nodded slowly, but the expression on her face seemed to say the opposite. “What was the nightmare about?” he asked carefully.

“The clan,” Asheani replied quietly.

She didn’t need to elaborate; Aldaron could imagine what that nightmare entailed. He’d had plenty himself, about their clan, about his friends in the Inquisition – he wasn’t there to protect them, he wasn’t strong enough to protect them. “It’s alright,” he murmured, and reached out to pull her into his arms, hugging her tight. “I’m still here. As long as I’m here I won’t let anything hurt you again, I promise.”

Asheani wrapped her arms around his shoulders and climbed into his lap as she held onto him. For all her protests about not being a child anymore, she was still Aldaron’s baby sister, and at times it showed. “I miss home,” she whispered.

“Me too,” Aldaron sighed. Although he had come to think of Skyhold as home, and although he was happy here, there were still many times when Aldaron missed his life before. It had been simpler in some ways, harder in others. Most of all life with the clan had just been so very different from life with the Inquisition. “Asheani…” he began to ask, fearful of the answer he would receive, “When Mithran leaves… Do you want to go with him?”

For a long moment Asheani was still and silent. The way they were tucked together Aldaron could not see her face, but eventually she answered. “I don’t know.”

Aldaron knew it was asking a lot of her to make this decision when they had only been reunited for two days. Even he hadn’t liked the Inquisition after being with it for only two days. Of course, his situation had been vastly different than hers, but he still understood how overwhelming this must be. He wasn’t sure how to make it any easier, though. He wanted Asheani to stay here with him so that he could take care of her and spend time with her and have a family again. But more than that he wanted her to be happy, and couldn’t help thinking that she would be happier with the Dalish.

“What if...” Aldaron suggested thoughtfully, “What if we all went with Mithran? Then you could meet the clan, and you could decide whether you want to stay with them or come back here with me?”

“Why do I have to choose?” Asheani asked softly against Aldaron’s shoulder. “Why can’t we all stay together? Why can’t everything go back to how it was before?”

“That’s just how it is, _da’ean_ ,” Aldaron replied, sighing. He had no better answer for her. Even if he could, Aldaron didn’t think he would want to go live with the Dalish again. Not anymore. “I’m happy with the Inquisition. I can help people here. I can do so much more than I ever thought possible before. I want to stay here,” he stressed. He wasn’t still with the Inquisition out of obligation or because he had nowhere else to go, and he didn’t want Asheani to think that. “I want to keep helping people.”

“And you want me to leave,” Asheani mumbled.

“No!” Aldaron insisted fiercely. He grasped his sister by the shoulders and pulled away from the hug so that he could see her face, look her in the eyes. “I don’t want you to leave,” he said honestly. “I want you to have the opportunity to live a normal life; to grow up and get your vallaslin and everything else. I want you to be happy, and if you’re happier with a clan then… Then that’s where you should go.”

Asheani looked down, unable to meet his eyes. Aldaron knew this had to be difficult for her, but he was trying to make it easier any way he could. “We’ll go with Mithran,” he decided for her. It would, at the very least, give her a little more time to come to a decision. “I need to get out of Skyhold for a while anyway,” he tried to sound cheerful. From Asheani’s solemn nod it wasn’t helping to cheer her up, unfortunately. “If you decide to stay here we’ll have to get you your own room.”

That got her attention, and Asheani looked up at him again. “Why can’t I keep living with you?” she asked in confusion.

“You don’t really want to keep sharing a room with me, do you?” Aldaron asked. They had shared an aravel or a tent – even the same bed most of the time – back with the clan, but they had both been children then. Surely Asheani was getting to an age where she would rather have her own space. From the look on her face, though, maybe he was wrong. “Well, the thing is…” he said slowly, letting his hands fall from her shoulders to rest on the floor behind him, “Dorian actually lives here.”

“You live together?” Asheani asked in surprise.

“Yes,” Aldaron replied, “What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re not married,” Asheani protested.

“So?” Aldaron asked. It really shouldn’t bother him as much as it did to have that pointed out. “That shouldn’t matter, it’s just a word,” he protested, uncertain who he was trying to convince. “The Chantry wouldn’t allow an elf and a human to get married, and neither would a Keeper, I think. Besides, I don’t know if Dorian would even want to, he doesn’t have a very good history with the idea.” Dorian had only ever expressed distaste for it, but Aldaron didn’t know if he was against marriage entirely or just being forced into one with someone he didn’t like. But it didn’t matter, at the moment it wasn’t even an option. And, yes, Aldaron was personal friends with the next Divine, and Leliana would probably make an exception in their case if asked (if she didn’t do away with restrictions altogether), but it still seemed like something that was out of reach for them.  And he didn’t know why he was making excuses to Asheani, anyway. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

“You want to get married,” Asheani said. It wasn’t a question.

“It’s not important,” Aldaron protested, “It wouldn’t change anything.”

“But you want to get married,” Asheani said again.

He did. “It’s so stupid,” Aldaron sighed. Two days ago the idea had never even crossed his mind. It hadn’t been important. He was perfectly happy with the way things were. Not that he was unhappy now. “I’ve only known him a year. That’s not long enough at all.” The only other married couples he’d known among the Dalish had known each other for years, sometimes their whole lives, before bonding. Humans seemed to get married more for political reasons than for love, sometimes to people they had never even met before.

The scant year they had known each other, though, sometimes felt like a lifetime. They had been through more in that one year than the first eighteen years of Aldaron’s life combined.

With a sigh Aldaron flopped back onto the floor and stared up at the rafters. He felt Asheani climb off his legs and settle herself beside him. “He left Tevinter because his family was forcing him to marry someone he didn’t like – a woman.” Among other things, but that was Dorian’s to tell, not his. “He probably doesn’t ever want to get married. Anyway it’s not possible, so it doesn’t matter what either of us want,” Aldaron said, a bit more sharply than intended. “I just wanted you to know that if you stay in Skyhold you’ll have your own room.”

For a long moment Asheani was quiet, and Aldaron continued to stare up at the rafters, though he couldn’t see much of anything in the dark. “But I can stay with you until then?” she asked eventually.

“Of course,” Aldaron assured. Dorian would survive a week back in his old bed, he had been through worse. They had been through worse. “You’re not upset?” he asked, turning finally to look at his sister again. “I thought you hated him.”

“I don’t hate him,” Asheani admitted begrudgingly. “I hate… that you like him more than me.”

“I don’t like him more than you,” Aldaron protested in concern, sitting up again quickly, “Just… differently. Would you feel like that if I wanted to bond with someone in the clan?” Although that had been the farthest thing from his mind back then.

“I don’t know,” Asheani muttered, “Maybe… You would still be going off with someone else and leaving me behind.”

“Leaving you behind?” Aldaron asked in confusion. He wasn’t sure what she meant. He had tried to make it clear that he wasn’t throwing her out, that he wanted her to stay with him but wouldn’t force her to.

“You were there for me even more than _mamae_ and _babae_ ,” Asheani said, looking down at her lap. “More than any of my other friends. We were always together, but then you went away. And it was only supposed to be for a little while but now you have all these new friends and a new life… And I don’t have anyone.”

Aldaron understood how that felt, too. To feel alone even when surrounded by people. But his new friends in the Inquisition were not a replacement for his family, his clan. They never had been. “ _Da’ean_ ,” he said gently, “No matter how many other friends I have I still only have one sister.” That got Asheani to raise her eyes and look at him again, and Aldaron offered her a reassuring smile. “No one could ever replace my baby sister.”

Asheani pulled a face, “I’m not a baby,” she complained.

“Then why are you whining like one?” Aldaron teased.

“I’m not!” Asheani definitely whined.

When Aldaron only smiled in response she punched him in the shoulder with nearly enough strength to knock him over – probably all the strength she had, but it still barely hurt. She had always had more of a temper than him, but despite that, she did not like fighting. As he righted himself again Aldaron couldn’t contain the short laugh that bubbled out of him at the expression of childish indignation on his sister’s face.

At the sound of that laugh Asheani’s expression softened to a reluctant smile, and eventually she let out a soft laugh as well. “I missed you, _isa’lin_ ,” she said sincerely.

“I missed you, too,” Aldaron replied. The loss of their clan had hit him hard, but it was the loss of his immediate family that hurt the most. For months he had thought his baby sister – his best friend – was dead, thought he would never see her again. She, at least, had known that he was alive somewhere, even if he was far away. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” Of everyone in the clan who could have survived, what were the odds it would be her?

“I’m glad you’re okay, too,” Asheani said. “And I’m really glad you saved the world.”

Aldaron chuckled softly. On some days it was still difficult to believe he’d done some of those things. But he was glad that it was over and that the world was gradually going back to normal. Maybe Aldaron could even have a normal life now, too, with no more wars to stop or would-be gods to kill. Maybe he could even have a normal family again. If Asheani stayed. But Aldaron didn’t want to burden her with any of those thoughts, so he just smiled and said, “You should go back to bed.”

“I will if you do, also,” the girl replied.

Aldaron was uncertain whether to agreed. He was still nervous about having another nightmare while she was there. The last thing he wanted was for her to know just how messed up his mind was now. But it would be even more suspicious to refuse, so he nodded and climbed to his feet, holding out a hand to help her up as well.

“You were reading?” Asheani asked, eyeing the book that still lay open on the floor.

“I was,” Aldaron confirmed, bending to pick it up along with his pillow. “It’s about the original Inquisition, hundreds of years ago. It’s really boring.”

“Then why were you reading it?” Asheani asked.

“I was hoping to bore myself to sleep,” Aldaron replied. “I guess it worked.”

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Asheani said softly.

“It’s alright,” Aldaron was quick to reassure. “You don’t ever have to apologize for coming to me if you’re upset. I’ll always be there for you, _da’ean_ ,” he promised. And he had certainly done it to Dorian enough times; it would be hypocritical to be angry at her. Walking back over to the bed he set the book down on the side table and climbed back under the blankets along with his sister.

After a moment to get comfortable, the room was filled with a familiar comfortable silence. Aldaron closed his eyes and made a valiant attempt at going to sleep, one that was probably futile. Asheani, apparently, was doing the same, because after a long moment of silence Aldaron heard her whisper softly, “Does reading really help you go to sleep?”

“Sometimes,” Aldaron replied, voice hushed in the otherwise silent room. Usually he wasn’t the one doing the reading, but he didn’t think that made much difference.

“Would you read to me?” Asheani asked shyly, peeking at him from under the blankets.

Aldaron was surprised by the request, though he probably shouldn’t have been. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d helped her through a nightmare by telling a story or singing a lullaby. She had been much younger the last time, however, years younger. “Of course,” he agreed easily. He sat up in bed and picked up the book again. After a brief moment staring at the cover in the dark – too far from the fire for its light to be of any use – he leaned over and fumbled to light one of the candles from the sconce beside the table. This was so much easier with Dorian around to do it with magic, and it was surprising for Aldaron to realize how much he had grown used to that.

When he finally had enough light to make out the words on the page, Aldaron got comfortable sitting up against the headboard, book propped open on his knees, and began to read aloud. He was still a rather slow reader, and it was harder still while trying to make his mouth work at the same time. Aldaron was certain his voice wasn’t nearly as steady and soothing as Dorian’s, but when he glanced down several minutes later Asheani was sound asleep at his side. So it was at least good enough for her.

Aldaron slumped down further into the pillows and continued reading silently until he finally dozed off as well.

 

* * *

  
The next day, midmorning, found the Inquisitor avoiding any semblance of responsibility laying atop the roof of the stables with his sister and pointing out shapes in the clouds as they idly planned a trip to the Dales that had not yet been proposed to any of the Inquisitor’s advisors or inner circle. Not that Aldaron imagined it would be an issue. There was hardly anything for the Inquisitor to do these days, at least compared to the constant effort of war. And after saving the world didn’t he deserve a vacation? That’s how Aldaron planned to sell it to his advisors, at least.

“That one looks like a dragon,” Aldaron commented, pointing to one of the clouds above their head.

“I’ve never seen a dragon,” Asheani replied.

“They’re very big,” Aldaron said thoughtfully.

“Master of understatement, your brother is.”

Aldaron sat up quickly and smiled when he saw Dorian standing on the battlements their rooftop backed up to. The smile faded quickly to suspicion, though, “Are they looking for me again?”

“No, no,” Dorian waved off the idea flippantly, “Not to worry. I merely saw you two from the library and decided to come see what you’re up to.”

“We’re cloudspotting,” Asheani told him.

“So I see,” Dorian replied.

“Would you like to join us?” Aldaron offered.

“I think I’ll stay over here where the ground is solid and level, if it’s all the same to you,” Dorian replied. “We don’t all have a death wish.”

“You’ve never seen me fall off of anything,” Aldaron protested.

“Yet,” Dorian said pointedly, “And I’ve no desire to see myself fall off a roof, either. Terribly undignified way to go.”

At his side Asheani giggled softly, and Aldaron couldn’t help smiling in amusement as well. Dorian was always so melodramatic about heights. “Have it your way,” he shrugged, and began to lay down again before remembering the conversation he’d had with his sister the night before. “Oh, I haven’t told anyone else yet, but we’ll be going with Mithran when he leaves.”

“What?” Dorian asked in alarm.

“Just to see him to the clan,” Aldaron added quickly, realizing how that first statement had sounded. “I’m coming back.”  

Dorian’s relief was palpable, “Oh, well then,” he breathed, “That’s understandable, I suppose.”

“It’ll only be a couple weeks at most,” Aldaron guessed. They would be able to travel quickly without having to worry so much about danger on the road. “You’ll hardly notice I’m gone.”

“Oh? Am I not invited on this little endeavor?” Dorian asked.

The question surprised Aldaron. He hadn’t thought that Dorian would want to go even if he was invited. “But you hate camping,” he said, confused. And there would most likely be no danger, no need for Dorian to watch his back. “And you didn’t seem to enjoy our last time with that clan.”

“The last time we saw them you nearly bled to death,” Dorian reminded him, “I was rather preoccupied.”

“Then you… do want to come?” Aldaron asked, still surprised and a little confused. Dorian had always insisted on going on missions with him during the war, but Aldaron thought that was mostly to keep an eye on him. That’s what Dorian had always said, and the man certainly gave no indication that he actually enjoyed trekking through the wilderness.

“Do you want me to come?” Dorian asked instead.

Aldaron wished he would learn how to give a straight answer. But the truth was that Aldaron did want him to come. If Asheani decided to stay with the Dalish Aldaron didn’t want to come home alone. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Well then, that’s settled,” Dorian replied matter-of-factly. “When do we leave?”

“By the end of the week, I hope,” Aldaron said, “I still have to talk to Josephine and Charter.”

 “You do realize that you’re technically in charge, don’t you?” Dorian asked, smiling a bit in amusement, “You don’t actually need their permission to do anything.”

“I’m not just going to leave without saying anything,” Aldaron muttered. “They’ll send out a search party, you know how they are. I’m sure it’ll be fine, I just have to make sure there’s nothing they need me for here before we go.”

“Very well, if you insist on being so responsible I won’t stop you,” Dorian relented with a sigh. “Do let me know when the plans are finalized. I’ll have to pack.”

“Of course,” Aldaron promised.

“Good,” Dorian nodded, “I’ll leave the pair of you to your cloud watching, then, though perhaps you’ll decide to come down from there for lunch at some point?”

Aldaron nodded. Dorian wasn’t nearly as subtle as he tried to be sometimes. He and Asheani had skipped breakfast in the hall in favor of spending some more time catching up. And Aldaron couldn’t help wondering if maybe Dorian was beginning to feel a bit neglected now that he had to share Aldaron’s attentions with someone else. Aldaron knew that he would probably feel that way if their places were reversed. “We’ll join you for lunch,” he offered, and glanced over at his sister, “If you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine, I guess,” Asheani shrugged.

“A ringing endorsement,” Dorian laughed. “I’ll see you in a few hours, then. Try not to break your neck in that time.”

Aldaron rolled his eyes and lay back onto the rooftop again. “We’ll be fine,” he promised, waving at Dorian to leave. “Go read your books.”

“I think I will,” Dorian sniffed, but the quirk of his lips assured Aldaron that he was in on the joke. “Because unlike some people I have civilized hobbies.”

“Boring hobbies,” Aldaron corrected him.

“Yes, much more boring than staring at the sky for hours,” Dorian sighed as he turned around. Then, with a quick wave over his shoulder, he was gone, striding off toward the stairs that would take him back to the library fastest.

“You’re so mean to each other,” Asheani said incredulously when Dorian was out of earshot.

Aldaron actually laughed, “No, not really,” he corrected, “It’s teasing. Like when I call you a baby. Besides, sometimes you have to remind Dorian that he’s not as stuck up as he pretends to be.”

Asheani looked like maybe she was beginning to understand. “Is that why he does it to you? But you’re not stuck up.”

“No,” Aldaron agreed, “But when I have to deal with human nobles I have to act like them. I can’t be too Dalish or they won’t take me seriously, they won’t take the Inquisition seriously, or maybe they’ll even be offended. Dorian complains a lot, but he’s never tried to stop me from doing anything ‘uncivilized’, so I know he doesn’t really mind.”

“You two are weird,” Asheani said.

Aldaron laughed again, “Probably,” he agreed. “Are you mad that he’s coming with us?”

Asheani was silent for a moment before she begrudgingly admitted, “No, not really.”

Aldaron grinned and turned his attention back to the sky. “There,” he pointed up at a cloud, “That one’s a halla.”


	8. Awkward Little Bird

 

Exactly one week after the last two members of Clan Lavellan had arrived in Skyhold they were leaving again. Mithran was leaving for good, Asheani still remained undecided. That was primarily the reason Dorian had asked to come along. If they both decided to stay with the Dalish Aldaron would be distraught. He would put on a brave face in front of them, to be certain, but Dorian didn’t want to leave him alone after being abandoned by the last of his family. And, actually, he felt like he’d barely seen Aldaron since his sister had arrived. Not that Dorian blamed him. The siblings hadn’t seen each other in well over a year; it was perfectly understandable that they would want to make up for lost time. But Dorian wasn’t about to let Aldaron run off for two weeks and leave him behind to mope about the castle like some lonely soldier’s wife. Not that Dorian would be caught dead actually moping.

They were meant to set out shortly after dawn, with hopes of getting out of the mountains well before dark, but things were not going according to plan. First Aldaron had shown up at the door of his quarters in the same weather-beaten, bloodstained leathers that he’d worn for the past six months at least.

“ _Amatus_ ,” Dorian scolded, gently but firmly turning his lover around and pushing him back into his quarters, “You can’t go around wearing the same thing you killed Corypheus in.”

“Why not?” Aldaron protested, “It’s still perfectly good.”

“Donate it to a museum, then,” Dorian sighed, “You’ve got an even better, brand new set of traveling clothes right here. Wear those.”

Aldaron grumbled, but an hour later he was wearing the new armor and standing in the stables introducing Asheani to his hart. The girl had new clothes as well, not as sturdy or intricate as the Inquisitor’s, but well made all the same. The tailor had even gone to the effort of making them look vaguely Dalish, the way that most of Aldaron’s clothes looked vaguely Dalish. She was currently staring awestruck at the hart, petting its muzzle and feeding it bits of carrot that Dennet kept giving her between seeing that the other horses were securely saddled and supplied.

Over the past week Dorian had noticed that most people seemed to like Asheani, or wanted her to like them. And she was likable when she wasn’t being a brat – something that seemed reserved solely for Dorian. There weren’t any other children in Skyhold, so apparently anyone with a parental streak was taking the chance to indulge it. Being the Inquisitor’s sister probably helped, too.

All the fawning was a little amusing, but it was also delaying their departure and Dorian had no desire to camp on the side of a mountain because of it. “Shouldn’t we be getting on the road sometime soon?” he asked, eyes seeking out Aldaron among the small crowd. There would be five of them leaving, with potentially only two coming back. Himself and the three surviving members of Clan Lavellan, of course, but they were also accompanied by a Dalish soldier – Loranil – who was apparently from this clan originally. Dorian thought he vaguely remembered the elf from their previous encounter, but he’d had other things on his mind than making friends at the time.

Aldaron glanced over at him, and then up at the sky, “We should,” he agreed. “Is everything set?”

“As set as it can be,” Dennet replied. He patted Aldaron’s hart on the flank but the creature ignored him in favor of bumping its nose against Asheani in search of more treats.

“Alright, we should get moving, then,” Aldaron said. He swung up onto his mount as easily as he did anything and held an arm down to his sister. The hart was as tall as Asheani was at the withers and even with Aldaron’s arm to hold onto she needed a boost from Dennet to get up onto its back, where she settled behind her brother in the saddle, hands clinging at his waist.

Within minutes the rest of them were mounted and the small party was passing through Skyhold’s gates and out onto the mountain paths. Dorian wasn’t terribly excited to spend the next several days on the road, but it would likely be more enjoyable than what he’d grown used to. The weather was mild – as mild as it ever got in the Frostbacks, at least, but Dorian would have never called it such before coming south – and they shouldn’t have to worry about roving bands of Venatori or templars anymore. In that sense this was almost like a holiday. For Aldaron it probably was a vacation. He tended to enjoy tromping about in the wilderness more than being locked up in Skyhold. Dorian would have preferred a vacation with less camping.

Aldaron had taken the lead, as usual, and from where he rode Dorian could hear him speaking to the Dalish soldier. “I sent a raven ahead to Keeper Hawen,” the Inquisitor said, “If it reaches him in time the clan should meet us on the eastern edge of the plains. Provided they’re still in the area, at least.”

“I expect they will be,” Loranil replied, “Even with all the help you’ve given it’ll be a while before the clan is what it was before. The Keeper will have found somewhere safer for them to camp as soon as the aravels were repaired and they’ll stay there for a while, I think.”

“Is it a very big clan?” Asheani asked from her seat behind Aldaron.

“Not terribly, no,” Loranil answered. “Even before the war our clan wasn’t very large, and we lost many when we got stuck too close to the fighting. Of course, it could have been much worse,” he added knowingly.

Asheani did not answer and looked away, her arms noticeably tightening around Aldaron’s waist. If that had been an attempt at sympathy it wasn’t very tactful. Aldaron himself only murmured a quiet agreement and nudged his hart into a trot, easily pulling a ways ahead of the rest of them before slowing again.

Dorian watched their backs for a moment, and then turned to shoot a glare at Loranil that went completely unnoticed. The elven soldier had his eyes trained firmly on the reigns in his hands, his face a picture of shame. Some of Dorian’s annoyance bled away. At least he knew that he’d messed up.

What a fine beginning to this trip.

With the Inquisitor and his sister just far enough ahead to be out of earshot, the remaining three travelers were left with absolutely no common ground for conversation. The silence that fell over them was one of the most painfully uncomfortable in Dorian’s memory. He despised such awkwardness, but imagined that anything he could say would only make the situation worse. So for once in his life the man stayed silent, difficult as that was.

“I’m surprised you agreed to come along,” Mithran commented. Just when Dorian had thought the discomfort of the day could be put behind them. Although Dorian suspected he was taking advantage of Aldaron’s absence. That appeared to be the recurring theme of the past week.

“Agreed?” the man questioned, glancing sideways at the elf. “I had to ask. The insufferable fool was going to leave me behind.” He was determined not to let on just how out of his element he felt at the moment. Thankfully, that was something at which he had rather a lot of practice.

“Truly?” Mithran seemed genuinely surprised. Perhaps he was. Dorian didn’t think the old elf had a very high opinion of him, even if he had relented on the matter of his relationship with Aldaron. “I thought you would be more comfortable staying back at the castle.”

“More comfortable, certainly,” Dorian quipped, “Camping does generally lack for feather pillows and silk sheets, but I’ll make do.”

“And yet you volunteered to join us?” Mithran asked.

“Is that really so shocking?” Dorian asked in reply. “What exactly do you think I’ve been doing this past year? Waging war from my sitting room? Don’t get me wrong, I still prefer my visits to the great outdoors to more resemble a garden party than a hiking trip, and to include far less sleeping on the ground, but as no one is currently trying to murder us and we’re not being lead into a demon infested battle field – why, this is practically a vacation!” Not his first choice for a holiday, but a definite improvement over all other recent escapades. (Excluding, of course, the infrequent excursions to Val Royeaux for shopping.)

The look Mithran gave him in return suggested that that was exactly what the elf had pictured him doing. That was a new experience for Dorian. He was used to being distrusted on sight by southerners, but anyone even tangentially involved with the Inquisition was forced to admit that he had at least been out there doing something. “A vacation,” Mithran mused, mostly to himself. “You are quite different from what I’d expected.”

That was practically a compliment. The closest Dorian had ever gotten from Mithran, at least. “And that, friends, is why you shouldn’t believe every bit of gossip you hear,” he replied cheerfully. “But I won’t hold it against you. A handful of those rumors are, in fact, true. Mostly the ones about how incredibly charming and handsome I am.” And the ones about how he was deflowering the Inquisitor on a fairly regular basis, but that was neither any of his business nor a topic for polite conversation.

“And the ones about your ego, evidently,” Mithran muttered.

Dorian let out a bark of laughter. “I do believe that’s the closest I’ve heard you come to making a joke,” he said. “It seems you’re not a complete wet blanket after all.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Mithran replied, looking a little confused by Dorian’s reaction. Perhaps he had meant it as an insult. Well, that was awkward.

If only he could escape this conversation as easily as Aldaron had, by simply fleeing the scene. The thought crossed his mind, but one glance up ahead told him that was a bad idea. The Inquisitor and his sister were still well within sight, just comfortably far enough away to avoid talking to anyone but each other. Which was exactly what they were doing at the moment; Aldaron turned to look over his shoulder, reigns held loosely in one hand as he let the hart pick its way down the road. His attention was focused completely on Asheani.

Quality sibling bonding time. What was that like, having a sibling? Aldaron and Asheani were practically attached at the hip. They had inside jokes that Dorian didn’t understand, half of them in Elvish. Half the time they spoke to each other it was in Elvish, or an equally unintelligible mix of Elvish and Trade. Dorian expected it was unintentional. Still, when they did it right in front of him it was rather alienating.

Maker, he was moping. Exactly what coming along on this little trip was supposed to prevent. She was a thirteen year old girl, what in the world did he have to be jealous of?

That she knew sides of Aldaron that Dorian had never seen, an unhelpful part of his mind supplied. Several stories from their life before the Inquisition had come out as the siblings talked and joked and argued with each other. Some painted pictures that Dorian had trouble reconciling with the Aldaron he knew; pictures of an energetic, troublemaking youth with a penchant for showing off and a desperate need for approval. Well, that last bit hadn’t changed, and Aldaron did have a rebellious streak that showed itself from time to time (and in his constant rejection of proper footwear). It was just that Dorian had never known an Aldaron who was not plagued by fear and doubt, who didn’t bear the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He really hadn’t known Aldaron very long at all.

So maybe he was a little bit jealous.

How absolutely shameful. If only there were anything else to think about or do. He had done more traveling through the wilderness in the past year than the entire rest of his life combined, but it had never been this mind-numbingly dull before. A side effect of the company, he supposed.

Thankfully, Aldaron decided to rejoin the rest of the party eventually, unwittingly rescuing Dorian from any further awkward conversation well before they broke for lunch at midday. Asheani began once more peppering Loranil with questions about his clan and the people in it, and this time the elven warrior was careful not to bring up anything about the war – either war.

By evening the small party had made it down from the mountain pass and into the foothills. Well past the constant dusting of snow on the peaks surrounding Skyhold and down into slightly more reasonable terrain. The roads here were well traveled by any travelers between Skyhold and Orlais and it wasn’t difficult to find a suitable place to camp just off the path. The elves were unsurprisingly efficient at setting up camp, with Dorian mostly getting in the way until he gave up even the façade of helping and seated himself by the fire. Not long after, Asheani sat down at his side, pouting slightly as she stared into the fire.

“Have you also been deemed ‘in the way’?” Dorian asked sympathetically.

“Tents are hard to put up,” Asheani complained.

“They are,” Dorian agreed. Despite a year of far too much camping that was a skill which he still hadn’t managed to master. Of course, half the time they’d arrived at camps already set up by the Inquisition’s forward scouts, so that particular skill hadn’t been necessary. “I would offer to cook, but I’m certain they will deem me useless for that as well.”

“What are you good for?” Asheani asked.

“Looking dashing?” Dorian offered her his most winning smile. The girl appeared as unimpressed as ever. How ironic that the only person immune to his charm was his lover’s sister. “Well, I am very good at magic,” he relented, “Unfortunately magic is not very good for putting up tents or cooking. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“I can cook,” Asheani said eagerly. “I’m good at cooking.”

“Are you, now?” Dorian asked curiously. He shouldn’t be surprised. Dalish elves all seemed to be very good at this whole camping thing. Of course they would be, but Asheani was still quite young and apparently tents had not been on her lesson plan yet. “Then by all means,” he gestured to the packs of supplies sitting near the edge of the fire. “I’ll supervise. Make sure we don’t burn the whole place down.”

 

* * *

  
Asheani was actually quite adept at cooking, considering her age. She was better than some of the grown men and women Dorian knew – better than Dorian himself, if he were being perfectly honest. There was still a depressing lack of seasoning in the meal that she had whipped up with the limited amount of supplies they had brought along, but Dorian was coming to expect that. Evidently no one in the south was aware of any seasoning other than salt, and sometimes not even that. It was a wonder Dorian had survived this long, to be honest.

It was fully dark by the time camp was set and their meal was prepared and eaten, the only light left from the fire and the moons. Having been awake since the crack of dawn (and fully expecting to be woken that early the next day as well) Dorian chose that moment to excuse himself from the conversation. He said his goodnights, picked up his pack, and slipped into one of the tents.

Thus far this trip had been absolute misery. Very nearly the worst in Dorian’s memory. But that particular honor was reserved for those two weeks spent hiding out in the Hinterlands before the Inquisition stumbled into Redcliffe and fundamentally altered the course of his life. This trip had the benefit of unburned food and some form of shelter; it was only the company that left something to be desired. Aldaron and Asheani he could handle. The girl was warming up to him finally, but the other two were more than happy to pretend he didn’t exist. It was like dealing with Solas all over again, only without being able to at least hold a halfway pleasant debate about spellcasting techniques.

Outside, Dorian could still hear the elves talking, but the canvas muffled their voices enough that he couldn’t make out any words. Not that he was hoping to eavesdrop.

By the time he had laid out his bedroll and carefully folded his clothes (the hardest part of camping was looking presentable while wearing the same outfit for days, but that was one skill Dorian had mastered) the voices outside had died down. He could still hear them moving around, however. Footsteps shuffling around the camp and eventually approaching the tent. As he was wondering who he would be forced to share quarters with the tent flap pulled aside, a pack was tossed in, and then Aldaron ducked inside. Not who he had been expecting. Far preferable, in fact.

“What are you doing here?” Dorian asked in surprise. “I thought you’d be bunking with little sister again.”

“I talked her into sharing with Mithran,” Aldaron replied. He flopped down onto the dirt floor and began unpacking his bedroll. “She’s comfortable with him. And it’s probably good if she gets used to sleeping alone. She’s old enough.”

Beyond old enough, some would argue, but the Dalish apparently endorsed communal sleeping. Dorian couldn’t help imagining, for a brief moment, a group of elven children all napping in a pile like a litter of puppies.

“Besides,” Aldaron murmured, sounding almost shy, “I missed you.”

“Missed me?” Dorian asked, “I haven’t been anywhere.”

“I know,” Aldaron mumbled, “But I’ve been spending so much time with Asheani and you’ve been sleeping in another room…”

“Oh-ho. ‘I missed you’, he says,” Dorian chuckled knowingly, smirking, “Is that what this is about? Our sleeping arrangements?” he asked lowly, in a tone that he knew always turned Aldaron into an adorable, stammering mess. He was not disappointed.

Aldaron’s face immediately turned bright red and his eyes looked everywhere except Dorian’s face. “That’s not what I… I mean…” he stuttered, holding his hands up before him in weak defense. “I only--.”

Easily brushing his hands aside, Dorian cut off his lover’s protests by leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss. Aldaron let out a squeak of surprise, and then sighed softly as he leaned into the touch. When Dorian finally pulled away all the words had died on Aldaron’s tongue, though he was flushed all the way to the tips of his ears and down to his neck. “You know how I feel about having sex in the woods, _amatus_. But I might be persuaded to make an exception,” he purred.

“That—That’s really not what I meant,” Aldaron replied, but the breathy tremor in his voice spoke otherwise.

Well, it probably wasn’t what he’d meant, but Dorian doubted he would protest if the night took that turn. Not that Dorian actually planned on following through, he just thought it was amusing to watch Aldaron blush and stammer like he’d never even been kissed before. “Well, I wouldn’t want to give your sister a true reason to hate me,” he relented. “And,” he brushed his thumb over the tattoos on Aldaron’s cheek, just below the dark circles under his eyes, “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of any more sleep.”

“I’ve been sleeping,” Aldaron protested meekly, but he couldn’t meet Dorian’s eyes when he said it.

“Not enough,” Dorian scolded lightly.

Aldaron pulled away from his hand, looking very much like a scolded child. “I’ve been through worse,” he mumbled.

Dorian did not doubt that. All that time ago, when his troubles first began and neither of them was the least bit prepared to deal with it, Aldaron had looked much worse. Three days, once, with no more than the occasional catnap, until Dorian had been forced to drug the half-delirious Inquisitor to sleep. He had no desire to relive that experience, and he imagined Aldaron felt the same. “What’s been keeping you up?” he asked, equally concerned and curious. As far as he knew Aldaron was not suffering nightmares as frequently as he had during the war. At least, he hadn’t woken Dorian because of them for at least a month. But the circles under Aldaron’s eyes had been getting progressively worse over the past week. This was more than one sleepless night.

Aldaron hesitated to answer, sitting on his bedroll and looking down at his hands as they twisted in his lap. “I don’t want to scare her,” he murmured eventually. “What if I have a nightmare? If I wake up fighting and screaming again… What if I hurt her?”

To that, Dorian didn’t know what to say that would be a comfort. It was a legitimate fear. It was unlikely, in his opinion, but it was possible that Aldaron could have another violent dream. And of course Aldaron wouldn’t want to tell his sister about any of this. “Tonight, at least, you can get some proper rest, yes?” the man said encouragingly, “I’ll be here, and I’m quite used to your terrible sleeping habits.”

Aldaron looked up once more and offered him a weak smile. “I’ll try,” he promised.

He always did. “Let’s get to bed, then,” Dorian suggested, and went back to stripping out of his clothes, “So that you can wake me at some ungodly hour of the morning.”

Aldaron’s smile brightened infinitesimally, and he was quickly stripped down to his breeches. He pulled his bedroll right up against Dorian’s, and as soon as the man lay down snuggled up close to him, pulling his single blanket over the both of them. It was so familiar Dorian couldn’t help but smile faintly as he wrapped an arm around Aldaron’s shoulders. They had spent innumerable nights like this. Having Aldaron wrapped around him like a living blanket was sometimes the only thing that kept out the cold. Maker knew these bedrolls were nearly useless. Thankfully it wasn’t cold enough for such measures to be necessary, but Dorian still wouldn’t complain about the unexpected change in sleeping arrangements. This was far preferable to sharing a tent with the grumpy craftsman or the tactless soldier.

“Dorian?”

The man was half asleep when Aldaron’s whispered voice broke through the silence. “Hmm?” Dorian hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t bother opening his eyes.

“Thank you for coming,” Aldaron said quietly. So quietly that had it not been silent save the distant ambiance of the forest at night Dorian might not have heard him.

“Of course,” he mumbled in reply. This was why he was putting up with all the discomfort of the trip, after all: for Aldaron.

“If Asheani decides to stay--.”

“Oh, hush,” Dorian sighed. Maybe nightmares weren’t the only worry keeping the elf awake at night. That would be just like him, fretting about things beyond his control. “Worry about that when it happens. If it happens.”

“But what if--.”

“Amatus,” Dorian interrupted. It was late; he had woken up very early and then spent the entire day traveling. He was tired, and he didn’t have the energy for this conversation at the moment. “Everything will be fine,” he mumbled. “Go to sleep.”

“You think so?” Aldaron asked hesitantly.

“Of course,” Dorian yawned. Or it would be eventually, and he would deal with the fallout when the time came but not a moment before. Now it was just pointless worry and unfounded speculation; Aldaron working himself up over nothing again. “Now go to sleep.”

Aldaron heaved a great sigh but didn’t offer any further protests. He shifted slightly, getting more comfortable against Dorian’s side, and then fell still. Maybe not asleep, but trying to, and that was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, this chapter was pretty difficult. Dorian doesn't do awkward very well.


	9. Nervous Little Bird

Asheani sat up as tall as she could in the saddle and leaned to the side, peering around Aldaron’s shoulder to see the road ahead. They had been on the road for days already and, according to her brother, they were nearly to the area this clan was supposed to meet them. She had run out of questions for Loranil to answer the day before. The warrior was probably happy about that, actually. He had been getting a little annoyed, but Asheani couldn’t help herself. She had never met a Dalish clan other than her own. Of course she was curious. And now they had almost arrived. The anticipation was so strong she could hardly sit still. She had lost count of the number of times she had leaned around Aldaron like this to look ahead, trying to catch a glimpse of sails in the distance. It was difficult, though. Aldaron was so much taller than her and every time she leaned over she felt like she was going to fall off the hart, so she didn’t get to see much before pulling herself upright again.

“We’ll find them today, _da’ean_ , calm down,” Aldaron said over his shoulder. He was probably getting annoyed by her constant fidgeting at his back.

“But it’s already midday,” she complained. “And we’re in the middle of the plains, shouldn’t we have seen them by now?”

“They’ll have found somewhere less out in the open to camp,” Aldaron replied. Then he twisted in the saddle to look over his shoulder at the others. “Loranil, any idea where we’ll find them?”

Asheani craned her neck to try and see him, too. “There’s a valley not far from here that we’ve used in the past,” Loranil replied. “It’s not far off the _shemlen_ road, but the hills are steep and it’s difficult to see until you’re right on top of it.” He glanced around briefly and then pointed off into the distance. “If we turn slightly to the north it’ll take us off the road, but we may arrive sooner.”

“Just a suggestion,” Dorian butted in, “If they’re expecting us it would stand to reason they’ll have someone on the lookout for our arrival. Likely closer to the road, rather than in the wilderness.”

Aldaron hummed thoughtfully before asking, “How far off are we?”

“A few hours ride at least, on the road, and then perhaps another hour to reach the valley,” Loranil replied.

To Asheani, that sounded like ages. They had already been on the road for days, and if it took another four hours (at least) to find the clan it would already be late in the afternoon. She was impatient, she didn’t want to wait that long. Not to mention how sore her legs were from so many days on horseback. “That’s so long,” she grumbled, soft enough that only Aldaron would hear.

“It might be just as long if we leave the road,” Aldaron replied. “Depending on the terrain. We’re not even completely certain they’re in that valley. I say we stay on the road for now. At least until we’re closer.”

Asheani sighed in dismay. “But we’ve been riding for so long already,” she complained.

“Our trip to Skyhold was significantly longer,” Mithran reminded her unhelpfully.

He wasn’t wrong. It had taken them months on foot to reach the mountain fortress. The trip had been long and arduous, hiding from anyone who passed them on the road and keeping well away from towns. But they were Dalish elves and they at least knew how to fend for themselves in the wilderness. Yes, that trip had been longer and far more unpleasant, but that didn’t stop Asheani from being miserable right now. “But this one’s so boring,” she whined. “I thought we’d be there by now.” On the map Aldaron had it looked so close, and they were traveling on horseback this time, so they should be moving faster.

“It’ll only be a few more hours,” Aldaron consoled. “As long as they got our message and haven’t run into any trouble they should be around here somewhere.” Asheani groaned. And what if they hadn’t gotten the message? What if they had run into trouble? “I suppose,” Aldaron continued thoughtfully, “There’s a way we could shave an hour or so off.”

“There is?” Asheani perked up immediately.

“Well, it depends how tight you think you can hold on,” Aldaron said, smirking over his shoulder at her, eyes full of mischief.

It took Asheani a moment to realize what he was suggesting, but when she did her eyes went wide and she held tighter to his waist. “Very tight,” she promised.

Aldaron grinned and looked at the others, “I think we can afford to speed up the pace for a little while,” he replied. “See if you can keep up.”

“Oh no,” Dorian sighed from the back of the party, “Let’s not.” But before he could even finish his protest Aldaron spurned the hart into a run. The animal leapt forward so quickly Asheani let out a shriek of surprise and excitement, clinging even tighter to Aldaron’s waist as they galloped along the road. After a moment, she heard the sound of hoof beats behind them and chanced a look over her shoulder to see the others following behind. Not that they’d had much choice.

Asheani wasn’t certain how long they raced ahead. The whole time she clung to her brother and watched the scenery fly past. The hart’s gait was fast, but smooth, and not terribly uncomfortable. But it was exhilarating, leaving her breathless when finally Aldaron allowed the animal to slow to a walk and then stop entirely. The hart was panting, and Aldaron leaned forward to pat it affectionately on the neck, murmuring praises. “Was that fun?” he asked.

It took a moment for Asheani to realize that he was talking to her and not the hart. “It was,” she replied, grinning. “Can we do it again?”

“Maybe later,” Aldaron replied. “Have to let Falon catch his breath first.” He looked up as another horse pulled to a stop beside them, and to Asheani’s surprise it was Dorian who had caught up to them first.

The man looked rather windswept after the impromptu race, if it could be called such, face flushed and hair slightly ruffled. “You,” he pointed an accusing finger at Aldaron, “Are impossible and infuriating. That was completely unnecessary.”

Aldaron laughed softly and replied, “Asheani was bored,” with a shrug.

So Dorian turned his accusatory gaze toward Asheani, who stuck her tongue out at him defiantly and earned a scoff in return. Loranil and Mithran finally caught up with them as well, the former pulling his mount to a stop by Aldaron’s side. “A little warning next time, Inquisitor, if you don’t mind,” he requested. “The council will have my head if you run into any trouble.”

“Then might I suggest making your funeral plans now,” Dorian replied. “He can’t go anywhere without running into trouble.”

“That’s not true,” Aldaron protested.

“Name one time you left Skyhold and we didn’t end up fighting for our lives,” Dorian challenged him.

“There was--,” Aldaron began defensively, but cut himself off. He frowned, brows knitted together in concentration as he thought back. “We--,” he began again, and then stopped once more. “It has to have happened at least once.”

“You can’t think of a single time, can you?” Dorian asked.

“Nothing’s happened this time,” Aldaron argued.

“Not yet,” Dorian said pointedly.

Aldaron turned away quickly, but not before Asheani saw the pout on his face. “Let’s keep moving,” he said, and nudged the hart into a quick walk once more. The girl turned and stuck her tongue out at Dorian one more time. Just for good measure.

 

* * *

  
  
Two hours and one more short and much less spontaneous race later the road passed through a small copse of trees, and there the small traveling party was met by a lone elf. She was dressed in light armor, a bow and quiver on her back, and introduced herself as a member of the clan they were supposed to meet. “We’ve been expecting you, Inquisitor.”

“I hope I haven’t made you go too far out of your way,” Aldaron replied after all introductions had been made.

“Not at all,” the scout assured. “We would have passed through this area eventually. And we’re happy to help another clan the way you’ve helped us.”

Another clan. With only three of them left Asheani wasn’t certain they counted as a clan anymore. She had been excited to meet this clan, but was suddenly very keenly reminded of everything she’d lost. While traveling with her brother and the others she had almost forgotten; because for a moment everything was familiar. She hugged Aldaron’s waist a little tighter and felt him lay a gloved hand over one of hers, squeezing gently before returning to the reigns. It wasn’t much of a comfort, but it helped to know that he understood how she felt.

The scout pulled herself up onto Loranil’s horse and the pair took the lead as they headed off the main road, picking their way along animal paths through the trees and over the rolling hills of the plains. They were moving slower now because of the rougher terrain, but still less than an hour later found them cresting a ridge that offered an impressive view down into the secluded valley below. Between the sparse trees Asheani could already see the sails of aravels fluttering in the breeze, and if she squinted she could almost make out the figures moving among them.

Although she had been excited and impatient earlier now that the prospect of meeting this clan and all its people was within reach Asheani found herself nervous. There was only so much that Loranil had been able to tell her. She wondered what the people were like. Would they like her? Would she like them? Were these people she could imagine spending the rest of her life with?

She was tense as they descended into the valley and eventually entered the circle of aravels that marked the edge of the Dalish camp. They were greeted by the Keeper – Hawen, he introduced himself. He seemed very nice, he was polite and welcoming and his smile was friendly, but Asheani stayed close to her brother the entire time, hand clinging to the sleeve of his shirt for reassurance.

“Do you want to go meet everyone else?” Aldaron asked when all the pleasantries were done.

Asheani did, but she was nervous. She had never met any Dalish elves besides her own clan and the very few that were at Skyhold. She was too young to truly remember the last Arlathvhen. Everything here was so familiar - the circle of aravels, the campfires, the halla – but that only made the differences all the more stark. The clan appeared to be smaller than theirs had been, the aravel sails were a different color, and of course all the people were complete strangers.

When she turned wide, nervous eyes up to Aldaron he offered her a reassuring smile. “I’ll go with you and Mithran to meet some of them,” he offered. “They’re all good people, I promise. They’ll like you.” Asheani nodded. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him, but having someone else there would make it much less daunting. Aldaron nodded back and turned to look over his shoulder. “Dorian, can you take care of our things?” he requested, “I’m going to show them around.”

Dorian sighed as though he had just been tasked with something far more difficult than unpacking the horses. “Very well, if I must,” he muttered.

Asheani still didn’t understand why the man made such a big deal out of everything No matter how many times Aldaron tried to explain it to her. Maybe he didn’t even understand. Not that it mattered, only that it was rather annoying after a while.

There weren’t nearly as many people here as there had been at Skyhold, but meeting them all at once was no less flustering. Many of them remembered Aldaron, though they greeted him by his title rather than his name. Mithran got on well with nearly everyone they met. There was no doubt in Asheani’s mind that he would be staying here when Aldaron and Dorian finally left. Even with so many days to think about it Asheani still wasn’t certain whether or not she wanted to leave with them.

After a whirlwind of introductions – Keeper, craftsmaster, halla tender, hunters, and so many more Asheani was having difficulty keeping them all straight – some of the clan’s youth finally worked up the courage to come talk to them.  Three of them, all around the same age as Asheani, approached Aldaron and asked shyly, “The dwarf didn’t come with you this time?”

“Varric?” Aldaron asked in reply, a little surprised. “No, he had other work to do. Were you hoping for more stories?”

“The younger ones were,” one of them protested, although the disappointment on all their faces was obvious even to Asheani. “But they were too scared to ask.”

Aldaron must have seen that disappointment as well, but he didn’t say anything about it. “Well, I’m sorry he couldn’t come. I think he’d rather be telling you stories than dealing with the Merchants Guild. But you know what?” he asked, bending down slightly so he was the same height as all of them, “I think Dorian might have brought one of Varric’s books. He’d definitely let you borrow it, but if you ask very nicely he might even read it to you.”

One by one they all turned to look across the camp to where Dorian and Loranil had set up the tents just outside the circle of aravels. Asheani turned, too, and saw the man seated on a tree stump with a book in hand. It was the not the first time this trip she’d seen him with his nose in a book. Sometimes she suspected that he had only packed clothes and soap and books.

“The _shem_?” one of the other teens asked apprehensively.

“He’s not so bad,” Aldaron said encouragingly. “He was with me last time, remember?”

“He yelled at the Keeper,” another pointed out.

“Ah,” Aldaron winced slightly, but quickly plastered a smile back on his face. “That’s because I was hurt and he was scared. He’s not normally like that. Asheani likes him, don’t you?” he asked hopefully.

Asheani was startled to have her opinion brought in, and she was reluctant to admit that Dorian had actually grown on her in the past week. Sure, he complained a lot, and he teased Aldaron a lot, but he also made her laugh and he was actually nice despite all the bad things she had said about him at first. “He’s alright,” she admitted grudgingly.

The others didn’t look entirely convinced, but they looked less apprehensive about the idea of talking to Dorian. “I’m Isene,” one of them said suddenly, a girl a bit taller than Asheani with firey red hair who seemed the bravest of the lot.

“Asheani,” she replied quietly.

The redhead smiled and gestured to her companions: a younger girl with dirty blond hair and a boy who was trying very hard to look like he didn’t want to be here but not doing a very good job. “This is Nellas and Varnehn.”

“Nice to meet you,” Asheani replied politely, just as she had been taught. Part of her hoped that she could make friends with these three, but she also worried whether or not they would like her.

“Asheani, why don’t you go with them to ask Dorian for the book,” Aldaron suggested eagerly. “I’m sure you can pester him into reading for you.”

The suggestion was heartily seconded by all the others until Asheani no longer had a choice but to agree. Aldaron was smiling, looking rather pleased with himself. Was this his attempt at helping her make friends? She’d though he wanted her to stay with him, so why was he helping?  “I guess I could ask him,” she eventually agreed.

This set Isene and Nellas grinning, and even Varnehn was unable to hold back a small smile. “Great!” Isene cheered, and grabbed Asheani by the wrist, “Come on, then.” As she began to lead the way Asheani cast a nervous glance back at Aldaron, but he just smiled and waved her off. “So how come you know the Inquisitor?” Isene asked as she pulled Asheani across the camp.

“He’s my brother,” Asheani replied.

“What, really?” the girl asked, green eyes going wide. “When he was here last time the dwarf told so many great stories about what he’s done. It sounded so exciting. Hey, is it true you live in a castle in the sky?”

Asheani blinked in confusion, “It’s just on a mountain,” she replied, feeling a bit stupid. She was startled by how excited they were to talk about her brother. Of course Asheani knew the stories people told about the Inquisitor; she’d heard them from plenty of people back in Skyhold, not just Aldaron himself. But it was strange to hear people outside the Inquisition get so excited about it, especially people her own age. She hadn’t realized how far those stories had traveled, and how much other people admired Aldaron’s deeds.

All three shared a grumble of disappointment when they heard that. She could see why the name Skyhold would give that impression, but Asheani had to wonder exactly what they had been imagining. “But it’s true it’s full of _shemlen_ and he orders them around?”

“He…” Asheani had to stop and think about that one. Aldaron was the head of the Inquisition, so that meant everyone had to do what he said. Technically. “I guess…” she relented, “But I don’t think he does much ordering.” At least not that Asheani had seen. “He asks nicely. He’s like a Keeper.”

The three nodded thoughtfully and murmured their understanding. Asheani thought back to her first impressions of Skyhold and the people there and supposed she hadn’t thought much different before seeing it for herself. It was certainly unlike anything she had imagined. They had finally reached the side of camp where Dorian was seated, however, and Varric’s book was far more interesting than any stories Asheani could tell.

It was easy to get the book off him, but it did take a significant amount of pestering from both Asheani and Isene before Dorian broke down and agreed to read it for them. He made a big show of being terribly put out and annoyed by the request, but an hour later found him sitting on that same stump reading aloud the Tale of the Champion to no less than eight Dalish youth, all listening in rapt attention. Even Asheani was enthralled. She’d only heard tales about the Inquisition; this one was entirely new.

And she liked Hawke already. Even though he was a human and a mage. Because when the story began he was running for his life, he’d lost his home and some of his family and had to start over somewhere new and strange where the people didn’t want him. Asheani knew what that felt like.

The story was just starting to get exciting – Asheani didn’t know much about the Deep Roads except that’s where Darkspawn lived so most people stayed as far away as possible, but Hawke was going there on purpose – when Aldaron showed up and flopped down onto the same stump where Dorian was sitting. It startled the man into stopping in the middle of a sentence. “Ah, I suppose this is your doing,” he commented, gesturing to the group of children at his feet.

“I may have suggested it to some of them,” Aldaron replied with a smile.

“And you’ve come to gloat?” Dorian asked.

“No,” Aldaron answered easily, “But I think they’ll be called away for dinner soon, so you should find a place to stop.”

Asheani had been so enraptured with the story that she hadn’t even noticed how dark it was getting. But under the trees the shadows were growing long, above them the sky was painted red and purple. And she was starting to get hungry.

“Oh, too bad,” Dorian replied, and snapped the book shut. A chorus of protests sounded from the children. “No, you heard him. From the mouth of the prophet himself,” he sighed dramatically, only to be elbowed in the ribs by Aldaron. “Ow! You heathen!” Dorian complained, rubbing his side.

“But how does the story end?” Isene demanded. She was still the oldest of the group, and by far the most outspoken. “You can’t just leave it there.”

“I’m sure Dorian could continue reading to you tomorrow,” Aldaron suggested.

“Don’t volunteer me for this,” Dorian protested.

“You have something more important to do?” Aldaron asked innocently. Asheani knew that voice, though she was more used to hearing it directed at their parents or their Keeper when he’d gotten himself in trouble again. As she watched, Dorian pursed his lips and glared at Aldaron, but her brother only smiled brighter and kissed his cheek. One of the younger kids made a gagging noise.

Dorian’s expression softened almost immediately. “Ugh, yes, fine. I’ll continue playing nursemaid tomorrow, but I’m not happy about it.”

Although Asheani didn’t know what a nursemaid was she got the feeling it wasn’t a compliment. But she was starting to get used to Dorian’s strange way of speaking, the way he made everything sound much worse than it was and never admitted to enjoying anything. Then she realized that maybe he didn’t want to be surrounded by children all the time. “Thank you, Dorian,” she blurted out, a bit more passionately than intended, but she did mean it. She was really enjoying the story and he was very good at reading. It wouldn’t be nearly as fun to read it on her own.

Dorian looked startled by her outburst, and even moreso when it was echoed by Isene, and then others. “Yes, well…” he seemed at a loss for what to say, however, and eventually gave up, “Run along and see what they’re trying to pass off as food.”

With the assurance that they would eventually get to hear the rest of the story the group began to disperse, heading back toward the center of camp and the cooking fires in pairs and threes. But Asheani wasn’t certain if she would be welcomed at this clan’s meal, so she stayed where she was sitting on the ground. That is, until Isene held a hand out toward her, grinning brightly. “Are you coming or what?” she asked.

For a moment Asheani just stared at the offered hand, uncertain what to do. She glanced over at Aldaron, waiting for his encouraging nod before she took Isene’s hand and let the older girl pull her to her feet.


	10. Social Little Bird

Aldaron spent the entire morning speaking to Keeper Hawen. It was the first time he truly had someone with whom he could discuss everything about the Temple of Mythal and the Well of Sorrows. There had been Solas, of course, but he wasn’t exactly sympathetic to Aldaron’s Dalish perspective. Hawen understood what the temple and the Sentinels that guarded it could mean for the Dalish, and how much could still be learned from the ruins. Not to mention how much was still locked up in Aldaron’s head.

“You should come to the next Arlathvhen,” Hawen murmured. Hours they had been seated at the edge of camp as Aldaron recounted all he could remember of the temple and pulled all he could from the memories at the back of his mind. “Share all of this with the Keepers.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Aldaron asked. “Not everyone will be pleased to learn that Arlathen fell before the Imperium arrived.” And that was the primary reason he needed to talk to someone Dalish about it. That one piece of information changed so much about their history.

“No, they won’t,” Hawen agreed. “I imagine some will be quite disappointed that we can no longer blame Tevinter entirely for the loss of our homeland, and to learn that our ancestors could be as selfish and petty as we are today. We have a habit of glorifying ancient Elvhenan, of pretending the people then were without fault – something I’ve been guilty of as well.”

Aldaron hummed in thoughtful agreement. He was guilty of the same thing, as were nearly all Dalish. They had been telling the same tales for generations and somewhere along the line history had turned to legend and myth, exaggerated and idolized until it was a skewed reflection of the truth. It was a wonder they got anything right at all. “But you still think I should tell them.”

“Is that not why you drank from the Well?” Hawen asked, “To preserve that knowledge for our people?”

“Yes, but…” Aldaron hesitated. That was the reason, and what was the use if he let it all go to waste in his own head, just as he had accused Morrigan of doing. But that had been a spur of the moment decision, driven by anger and pride, and now after months to consider it Aldaron was no longer certain sharing what he had learned would benefit anyone.

“You fear the reaction if this is revealed,” Hawen finished for him. Aldaron nodded. “It will not go down lightly, I’m certain of that,” he conceded, “But that does not mean it’s a bad thing. What we know of our history has been scrounged from ruins just like this temple, and from what few stories survived the ages. The gaps were filled with conjecture and guesswork until we forgot the difference between truth and imagination. You have rediscovered some of that truth, _lethallin_ , the People deserve to know. What they chose to do with the knowledge is not on your head.”

“I can’t think of a situation this past year that hasn’t somehow been on my head,” Aldaron sighed. He raked a hand through his hair and looked up at the sky through the trees. “I’ll think about it some more,” he murmured. It was years still before the next gathering of the clans. “Thank you, _hahren_.”

“Of course,” Hawen replied. “If I may ask, how did your Tevinter friend take this news?”

“Dorian?” Aldaron asked, ignoring how much it rankled to have the man described as merely a friend. “He was as shocked as I was, actually. Apparently they love to brag about how they conquered our people. The truth, if this is the truth, is much less impressive. I think Dorian would be quite pleased to see Tevinter taken down a peg. But we don’t have any proof, so that’s unlikely to happen.”

“I’m surprised he’d be happy about something like that,” Hawen commented.

“I think it’s more like… He’s relieved Tevinter isn’t entirely as terrible as everyone likes to think,” Aldaron replied thoughtfully. “Especially after Corypheus. He very much wants to see Tevinter changed for the better.”

“An admirable thought,” Hawen murmured.

Aldaron hummed in agreement. It was a goal he understood intimately, because Aldaron felt the same way about his people. But he also knew – no matter how much he refused to acknowledge it – that goal would one day drive Dorian back to his homeland. And Aldaron might not be able to follow. “I should go find him,” he said, rising from where he was seated on the grass. “Make sure the children haven’t done anything to offend his delicate _shemlen_ sensibilities.”

Hawen actually cracked a bit of a smile. “I won’t keep you, then.”

Aldaron nodded his farewells and turned to go, but only a few steps away he had a thought. He didn’t want to leave this conversation quite so open ended. “ _Hahren_ ,” he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “If I don’t make it to the Arlathvhen,” – because who could tell where the Inquisition would take him in the intervening years – “tell the People the truth about Red Crossing. And tell them where to find the Temple. They can make of it what they will.”

For a long moment Hawen regarded him thoughtfully, but Aldaron could not imagine what he was thinking. Finally, the Keeper nodded and offered Aldaron a gentle smile. “I will do that, _lethallin_ ,” he assured. “Though I hope you’ll be able to do so yourself.”

Again Aldaron nodded, though he remained uncertain himself, and took his leave, eager to put such heavy subject matter out of his mind for a while. He didn’t enjoy having such decisions weighing him down, though it felt like he was doomed to it for as long as he remained Inquisitor. He shook such thoughts from his head as he crossed the camp. What better place to forget about the responsibilities that awaited him back in Skyhold than among his own people? But just as last time, it wasn’t quite the homecoming he’d been subconsciously hoping for.

Perhaps the rest of their stay would be better, now that all the depressing business was out of the way. He put that all out of his mind, though, as he moved through the camp. This was the first time Aldaron had had a break from Inquisition business since the first time he fell out of the Fade, and he intended to make good use of it. Namely, by spending time with his family and introducing Dorian to real Dalish culture (especially the food).

When Aldaron had left their tent that morning Dorian had still been making himself presentable. As though anyone here cared one way or another about the state of his hair. The handful of young children lingering, shy but eager, by the nearest aravel certainly hadn’t been concerned with anything except hearing more about the Champion of Kirkwall.

Returning now the kids had cleared off but Dorian was still in residence; seated beside the ashes of their campfire. The man still had a book in hand, but it definitely wasn’t one of Varric’s. More likely Dorian had moved on to the incredibly dull magic and history texts he usually read and was using it to avoid any form of socialization. Aldaron knew this wasn’t exactly Dorian’s comfort zone, that he likely had little in common with anyone else here, but he really wished the man would at least try. That was why he’d encouraged the children to seek him out. Maybe not his best plan, but it had worked for a little while.

“You’ve lost your audience,” Aldaron observed as he lowered himself to the grass beside the man.

“Yes,” Dorian confirmed, “I ran out of exciting adventure stories to read them, which isn’t all that surprising considering I didn’t pack a single one.” Looking up from his current book, he leveled Aldaron with an expectant stare, but the elf couldn’t bring himself to feel the least bit guilty. “This is entirely your doing, isn’t it? How long have you been waiting to torture me with gaggles of unruly children who can’t sit still and ask inane questions?”

Aldaron laughed lightly. He’d seen the children the day before, listening with rapt attention to Dorian’s voice (then again this morning waiting for him to appear) and couldn’t imagine they had been terribly unruly or asked more questions than were strictly necessary. “You liked the attention,” he said knowingly. All those faces looking up at him, hanging on his every word.

Dorian rolled his eyes as he marked the page he was reading and set his book aside. “I suppose I’ve had worse audiences,” he conceded, “Or worse subject matter than questions about the ‘exotic Free Marches’,” he muttered sarcastically.

“I don’t suppose they’ve ever seen a city,” Aldaron commented, “For them it is exotic.” There had been a time when Aldaron felt the same way. Tales of distant lands and different peoples were always exciting.

Dorian sighed in exasperation. Maybe he’d never felt that way. Then again, he came from the most exciting and exotic place of all. “And how was your morning?” he asked, changing the subject. “Finished all your secret meetings about secret elf things?”

Now it was Aldaron’s turn to roll his eyes. “It’s not a secret,” he replied. “I only wanted to talk to someone about everything. Someone Dalish.”

“Everything?” Dorian repeated.

“The temple. The well. You know,” Aldaron replied vaguely. But Dorian had been there, Aldaron didn’t need to elaborate.

“Ah, yes,” the man hummed in understanding. “All the lost elven wisdom locked away in that head of yours. It hasn’t been giving you trouble, I hope.”

Aldaron shook his head. “The voices are mostly silent now,” he assured. “And I’m getting better at digging out what I want, instead of being flooded with everything at once.”

“That’s good,” Dorian murmured. “But do me a favor, amatus, and the next time we find some ancient elven magic in need of a host: let someone else take it. You’ve done enough already.”

Aldaron offered him a smile that he hoped was comforting. He knew that Dorian worried, and he had given Dorian plenty of reason to worry, but he still didn’t regret anything. “Are you offering?” he asked, instead of making a promise he might not be able to keep.

“Hardly,” Dorian scoffed. “A mage from Tevinter? Can you imagine? It would be so blasphemous even I can’t appreciate the irony. But someday you’ll run out of miracles, and I’d rather not see that happen.”

“I’m fine, ma’nehn, I promise,” Aldaron said earnestly, leaning over to kiss Dorian softly. In this moment it was the truth. Despite the somber tone his day had taken so far, Aldaron was happy. He was content, right now, to be among his people and to have the man he loved by his side. And the niggling fears at the back of his mind today were nothing compared to the past year. “Do you know where Asheani is?” he asked, hoping to get them back on happier subjects.

“Off with her new friends, I suppose,” Dorian replied with a shrug. “That redhead from yesterday dragged her off as soon as they got bored of me.”

Aldaron turned to look across the camp, but from where they were seated he saw no sign of either girl. That didn’t worry him overmuch. This area was safe, and they were both Dalish, they knew not to wander too far from camp. It did bring one of those niggling fears to the forefront of his mind, though. “She’s going to stay, isn’t she?”

“What makes you say that?” Dorian asked curiously.

“She’s happier here,” Aldaron said. “It’s the life she’s used to, and she can have friends her own age. There are no other children at Skyhold.”

“She’s quite adamant about not being a child,” Dorian pointed out.

“She’s only thirteen. She is a child, no matter what she says,” Aldaron argued.

“Well, perhaps now that the war is over and we’re not under constant threat of attack more people will consider bringing their families to Skyhold,” Dorian said, uncharacteristically optimistic. “It’s certainly got the space now there’s no more holes in the walls.”

And now that so many people were leaving, Aldaron couldn’t help but think. That was the real reason the prospect of Asheani staying here was so distressing. He was already loosing half the friends he had made with the Inquisition, so much of the community that had held him together throughout everything drifting apart just as he’d feared. He wanted to cling to every companion he had remaining, especially the ones he thought he’d lost once before.

His silence must have been telling. Dorian nudged his shoulder, kissed his face when Aldaron turned toward him. “You’re overthinking again,” he scolded fondly.

“Says the man who packed six books for a two week trip,” Aldaron groused.

“I packed only five books,” Dorian protested, “The last was nefariously secreted into my luggage by unknown parties,” he gave Aldaron a pointed look.

“I don’t know what any of those words mean,” Aldaron told him innocently. And though that was true, he was actually guilty of hiding the book in the bottom of Dorian’s saddlebag. He knew the man was accusing him, but he could still play innocent.

Dorian rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I don’t know why I put up with you,” he complained.

“Because,” Aldaron smiled, “Yesterday Hawen told me they had dammed off part of the stream nearby to use for washing, and I know you haven’t bathed in nearly a week, so if you like we could go see if it meets your standards.”

“Amatus, nothing outdoors will ever meet my standards,” Dorian replied.

“Does that mean you don’t want me to show you?” Aldaron asked.

Dorian sighed, made a big show of looking terribly put out. “I suppose we might as well take a look. It’s got to be better than nothing. Let me get my things.”

 

* * *

  
  
Days passed, and for Aldaron they were notably better than the first. The clan welcomed him easily into their activities, and they welcomed Asheani and Mithran as though they were family. It was nice to forget, for a while, the troubles of the outside world and live as he had before the Inquisition. He went hunting, he climbed trees with the older children, he shared tales and meals around a campfire, and he dragged a very reluctant Dorian along to as much of it as the man would allow. But in the back of his mind he always knew they couldn’t stay here forever.

He was expected back at Skyhold. He had work to do still.

No matter how relaxing this brief vacation was, no matter how tempting the thought, he couldn’t stay here forever.

Regretfully, Aldaron informed Hawen of their imminent departure, only four days after arriving. He told Dorian as well, but the man seemed only relieved to be headed back to civilization. He told Mithran, and the craftsman wished him well as he expressed once more how proud their own clan had been of him. He told Loranil, who would be spending another two weeks with the clan before returning to Skyhold. The roads were safe enough that the Inquisitor didn’t need an armed escort. Especially if it would be only himself and Dorian making the return journey.

Last of all he spoke with Asheani. It was difficult to pull her away from her new friends, and that made it all the more difficult to say, “I’ve got to head back to Skyhold soon. Tomorrow, probably, at the latest.”

Asheani looked up at him and Aldaron was especially glad to have pulled her away for this. She looked sad. “So soon?” she asked.

“I can’t stay away long, you know that,” Aldaron reminded her. “I’d like to, but I’ve already delayed our next mission for this, I can’t delay it any more.”

“Oh,” Asheani replied. She looked down at the grass beneath her toes and Aldaron steeled himself for what he felt was inevitable. “I guess I should say goodbye, then.”

Even though he’d been expecting it, Aldaron’s heart plummeted into his stomach. “Asheani--,”

“I can be ready to leave by tomorrow, I promise,” the girl interrupted before he could finish the thought, stopping him dead. “But you have to let me say goodbye first, and I can still send letters, can’t I? Isene’s not very good at reading and she can only write her name, but her mother can read and write and said she would help if I wanted to write so you have to let me.”

“You…” Aldaron stammered as his brain tried to catch up with how quickly Asheani was talking. “What?”

“I want to write to Isene,” Asheani said, “And maybe some of the others. Is that alright? I know your people are busy and maybe they don’t have time to carry letters.”

This was the exact opposite of what Aldaron had been expecting to hear. “You’re… not staying?”

Asheani looked up at him in confusion for a moment before shaking her head. “Everyone here is really nice, but… I want to stay with you.”

She wanted to stay with him. Unable to help himself, Aldaron pulled her into a crushing hug, grinning from ear to ear. Asheani let out a small surprised sound as he pulled her in, briefly returned the embrace, and then wriggled out of his arms, protesting, “Alright, let go, you’re worse than _mamae_.” Reluctantly, Aldaron released her and let his arms fall back to his sides, but he couldn’t stop smiling. “Did you really think I was going to stay here?”

Aldaron’s smile faded and he shrugged, glancing sheepishly at the ground. “You seem happier here than you were at Skyhold,” he murmured, “You’ve got friends.”

“Skyhold is… different,” Asheani admitted, “And a little scary. But this clan is different, too. I like them, but… It just makes me miss _mae_ and _bae_ even more.”

Aldaron knew exactly how she felt. He’d realized the same thing when he last visited this clan. Life here was familiar enough that it only reminded him of what he’d lost. Now the wounds were not as fresh, and he had acclimated to his new life with the Inquisition such that he didn’t feel homesick anymore. Asheani hadn’t yet had the time to get used to a new life. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to make a decision before meeting the clan. Again he pulled her into a hug and this time Asheani didn’t fight to be released. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Yes,” Asheani replied, “I want to stay with you and Dorian. You’re my family.”

“Even Dorian?” Aldaron was surprised, but happy.

“I guess, since you like him so much,” Asheani grumbled reluctantly. “He’s sort of nice when you get to know him. But don’t tell him I said that.”

Laughing, Aldaron finally released her from his embrace. “He likes you too, you know.”

Asheani pulled a face and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked away and maybe even blushed a little. “You still can’t tell him,” she mumbled.

“Alright, alright,” Aldaron relented, though he didn’t understand at all why she wouldn’t want Dorian to know that she liked him. Had he been like that at her age? Aldaron couldn’t remember. He’d likely been too preoccupied learning to hunt to worry about much else. “Can we at least go tell him you’re coming with us?"

“Okay,” Asheani agreed, “But you never answered my question!”

“What question?”

Asheani sighed in annoyance, “If I can write to Isene,” she said impatiently.

“Of course you can!” Aldaron replied immediately. As though he would deny his sister the opportunity to make friends. “You can write to anyone you want.” Asheani beamed, and she let Aldaron pull her into another one armed hug before leading her off across the camp, arm still around her shoulders. “Let’s go find Dorian. And tomorrow we’ll go home.”

Asheani smiled softly, slinging an arm around her brother’s waist as they walked. “Yeah. Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived happily ever after. Until Trespasser. The End!
> 
> So concludes the Happy Family Time™ portion of this series. I do still plan on writing some form of Tresspasser/Post-tresspasser fic for Aldaron, but I'm still not sure how I want to deal with it. Also, I want to focus on my other fic,[Semper ad Meliora](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5679718/chapters/13084456), for a bit. Unfortunately, that means it'll be a while before this series gets the conclusion it deserves, but for now it at least ends on a high note.
> 
> As always, you can come bother me about this series, Aldaron, my other works, or anything at all over on [tumblr](http://erandir.tumblr.com). Thank you for reading!


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